


Silence and Noise

by blackenedsoul



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Abandonment, Abduction, Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abuse, Dark, Drugs, Family Drama, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Mental Breakdown, Minor Character Death, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Not horribly graphic, Payback, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Daryl, Protective Rick, Psychological Trauma, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rescue, Revenge, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-06-05 23:52:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6728377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackenedsoul/pseuds/blackenedsoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Governor's attack, Carl is separated from the others and has to flee the prison  alone. Shortly after he is found by the Claimers, who take him as their property. Meanwhile, Rick escapes with Michonne, but is devastated by the loss of his family. Rick refuses to give up searching for his son, however it will take another member of their group to bring them back together. Will Carl ever be the same?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Escape

**Author's Note:**

> New to posting to this site but a longtime reader. Please comment/review and leave kudos if you enjoyed. Plot suggestions welcomed.

Everything was on fire. Smoke burned his eyes as he ran through the wreckage, clutching his shotgun in his hands tightly. It had been only moments before that he stood at the fence in front of Daryl, ready to shoot. The Governor had arrived with a small army, only a few men, but with enough firepower to flatten their sanctuary entirely. Daryl had told him to hold back, that he could start something else. His Dad could handle this, and he could trust him. But the inevitable happened anyway.  
  
Now he couldn’t see anyone, couldn’t hear any shouts. After the explosions stopped and the smoke cleared enough to see, Daryl was gone from beside him and Beth and Maggie’s screams had faded into the roaring, cracking flames around him. Carl stood shakily, scanning over the yard and seeing bodies lying prone in the grass where his father and the Governor had last been seen. The only movement was the slow shuffle of the dead, moving in waves all over the grass and approaching quickly. They began to press into the chain link fence, their teeth gnashing over the metal and rotten hands reaching through. Carl gave one last look over the grass in desperation before turning to run.  
  
Rounding a corner and taking advantage of the distance between himself and the walkers that followed, he reloaded, taking stock of the two shells he had left. Swearing to himself, Carl followed the length of the fence until he came to where it had twisted and buckled under the tank. Walkers were pouring in, and he knew he had to get out before he was trapped. He raised his gun, striking one in the temple and stepped over it as it collapsed to the side. There was still relative silence, save for some distant gunshots that sounded like they were now miles away. Walkers were pouring across the grass from all sides, and he found himself running with no direction. The Governor’s vehicles were parked in a loose formation on the grass near the edge of the perimeter. He could see Hershel’s body from ten feet away in two pieces, his head severed, his temple stabbed through cleanly. The Governor’s body lay a few feet away, maimed and still. Carl looked frantically for his Dad, for Michonne, but could see neither. He turned on the spot, desperately looking all around him for anyone, any sign of life.  
  
“Dad?” He called, and he saw the walkers begin to head in his direction, a wave closing in on him. He couldn’t hear anything, just the ringing in his ears and the soft groaning of the dead around him.  
  
“DAD! Michonne!” he called again, tears springing into his eyes. The groaning became louder and outstretched, grey fingers were only a few feet away. Carl felt icy panic rise up in him, his mind racing but knowing he only had one choice. He ran.  
  
He ran until he couldn’t see the smoke anymore. He came out of the woods, and onto a dirt road, He could hear his breathing, harsh and fast, before he realized he was crying. He dropped to his knees, no longer able to stand. Everyone he knew was dead. His whole family, obliterated in what felt like moments. If by some miracle anyone else had escaped Carl knew he probably wouldn’t ever find them. He was alone. He thought of his sister, and hoped that death came quickly for her and that she didn’t suffer.  
  
He thought of Daryl, Beth and Maggie, who had been so close to him before the explosions but gone once the smoke cleared. When he thought of his father, he felt a swell of anger. This happened because he wouldn’t go looking for the Governor, didn’t anticipate another attack like this. Carl thought of the times he wanted to help, wanted to go out and find the Governor with Michonne but his father made him stay. He had sheltered him in the prison, thinking he was keeping him safe. But now he was utterly alone, with two shells in his gun and the clothes on his back.  
  
Wiping away the streams of tears from his face he picked himself up off the ground and started walking again. He needed to find somewhere to hide until he could figure out what to do. The sun was beginning to fall behind the trees ahead of him in the road. Carl knew that meant he had only a couple hours before nightfall. He picked up his pace, noticing old telephone lines in the distance that followed the road into a fork on the left. When he came to the intersection he saw three houses along the road, their paint peeling and windows broken. The first house looked as though it had been partially burned, the window frames licked with black ash.  
  
Looking further down, the second house seemed to be in better condition. Carl approached it apprehensively, raising his gun up in front of him. The small porch was overgrown with bluegrass and dandelion, growing up to and through the open front door. Listening momentarily, Carl tapped the barrel of his gun against the metal frame of the broken storm door, waiting for footsteps. When none came, he pried the door open completely with his foot before pushing in the heavier wooden door with his gun. The air inside was stale, damp, but he couldn’t detect the tell-tale scent of death that was now as familiar to him as the smell of grass. It was bright inside, although the carpets had turned black with moisture. The front door opened directly into the living room, the kitchen a bright beacon towards the back with a large window above the wooden countertop. Keeping his gun raised, Carl crossed the living room, looking quickly around his surroundings as he passed.  
  
When his foot crossed the carpet and landed on the kitchen tile a loud hissing sounded from the sink that made Carl leap back in fright, hands shaking as he tried to keep his gun in position. Peering forward, he let out a breath of relief when he saw a brown rattlesnake curled up in the sink, head lowered and tail shaking threateningly. Carl retreated a few steps before looking up at the wooden cupboards, doors all open, and barren. Someone had already been through this house, probably long ago, and stripped it clean of supplies. Carl backtracked towards the door, looking out briefly before stepping out onto the porch. There still weren’t any walkers, but when night fell he wouldn’t be able to tell anymore. The last house was worth checking, he reasoned. It may not have food or water but he would settle for no snakes.  
  
The small bungalow at the end of the street had the most intact windows. This time, the door was closed and Carl had to think for a moment before deciding how to proceed. He peered into the dirty window to the left of the door and saw nothing. Despite being abandoned for years, the living space he could see inside looked well preserved. He scanned the room thoroughly before deciding once again to tap his gun on the door a few times. He returned to the window and waited, gun drawn. No walkers emerged after a couple minutes but he still felt hesitant to open the door. Glancing back at the setting sun which had turned the sky hazy shades of purple, he swallowed thickly and turned the knob. 

  


///

  


“Rick! Rick, we have to go-“ Michonne shook him slightly. She was carrying most of his weight but he was still managing to pull her further into the prison grounds, towards the interior fence. “No one is in there! If we go in well never get back out.”  
  
“CARL! “ Rick’s shouts were getting lost over the noise of the dead closing in around them. He continued to drag them both towards the inferno beyond the fence, walkers flowing in like ants.  
  
“Rick, he’s not there!” Michonne pulled him to a stop, sinking her boots into the grass to hold him still. He was sobbing, barely standing. His eyes were wide and fearful, never quite reaching Michonne’s gaze as she tried to reason with him. “He got out, I know it, but we need to leave.”  
  
“Judith... she was inside.” Rick stared off into the flames and smoke from the cellblock. Michonne grabbed his face with a firm grip and forced him to look her in the eyes.  
“We have to believe they had time to get out, and if they did they’re going to need their father.” Rick stared back at her through tears and nodded, becoming suddenly hyper aware of the dead stumbling towards them from in front and behind.  
  
“Come on.” Michonne unsheathed her sword and hauled them both to the side, forcing Rick to run despite the gunshot wound to his leg. Rick gritted his teeth and willed himself to move across the grass towards the trampled exterior fence. As they began to move uphill beyond the fence, Rick glanced back once more to look for any sign of his son, of anyone else, but could see none.  
  
They dead trailed them for miles. It took nearly an hour for them to make any meaningful distance between them. They decided to walk south, where although uphill, the walkers seemed to thin out quickly. The first sign of anything but countryside they saw was an old restaurant set back behind a single gas pump. They separated as they approached, Rick leaning against the stone wall, gun in one hand and his other hand pressed firmly over the wound on his leg.  
  
“I’ll just be a second.” Michonne reassured him, hesitating for a moment to make sure he would stay. Rick said nothing but looked ahead at the trees in the direction they has just come in, at the barely visible plume of smoke in the distance.  
  
The old rusted door was barely hanging on its hinges, and Michonne had to yank it off entirely to gain access to the building. She dropped the door to the side, the metal scraping loudly on the concrete. She waited. Glancing one more time at Rick, he nodded at her without looking at her and she stepped through the doorway.  
  
Two steps in and she could immediately hear a walker growling. She stopped, but could tell from the repetitive banging that it was trapped. She approached slowly, turning to the left down the hallway and immediately saw it barricaded behind the counter, tables and chairs stacked up in its path. With her katana firmly in her grip she crossed the room, the walker becoming aware of her and reaching it’s arms out across the counter. She raised the blade above her head, and brought it swiftly forward through its rotten eye socket. As the body collapsed, she raised the handle of the katana so the flesh would slide off cleanly. Pausing momentarily to listen, she took note of the small collection of canned food and condiments behind where the walker lay before moving on to sweep the rest of the building.  
  
Once she had finished, she backtracked to the front door. “All clear.” Rick remained where she had left him, bracing himself against the side of the building, eyes looking desperately over the trees in the distance. Tears ran down his face from his swollen eyes and landed on his blood soaked shirt.  
  
“We have to leave a sign, something... in case he got out.” Rick choked, buckling over slightly. She crossed the distance between them, holding him up once more. She scanned the property before her eyes fell on a white plaster wall that made up the side of the garage.  
  
“Over there.” Michonne motioned with her head and Rick stumbled towards it, still clutching his leg. She tried to support him once more but he shook off her hands and continued to the wall. Using just his fingers and the blood from the wound on his leg, Rick sprawled CARL in large letters across the surface, going over it several times until the letters were nearly black. When he was finished he stepped back before he finally allowed Michonne to throw his arm over her shoulders and nearly carry him towards the restaurant. They made it two steps inside before Rick legs gave out and he collapsed.


	2. Alone

Silence greeted Carl on the other side of the door. The room was covered in a layer of dust and cobwebs that hung from the pictures on the walls like lace. Nothing inside was broken or out of place but Carl didn’t allow himself to feel optimistic. Leaving the door ajar behind him, he cleared his throat loudly and waited. Nothing. Taking a step forward into the living room, he walked towards the wall and slammed his hand into the drywall, dust raining down on him. He listened for footsteps, groaning or voices, even, but heard nothing. Continuing forward, he raised his shotgun back up, hearing his footsteps creaking loudly on the wooden floor. The hallway straight ahead gave way to two tiny bedrooms, both sparsely furnished, the beds dusty but still made. The bathroom at the end of the hall was dark, it’s small window covered over with vegetation. Returning back down the hall, Carl approached the kitchen, gun still raised but his heart no longer pounding.  
  
The cupboards were open and empty, but Carl could see several large aluminium cans perched on top. Confident he had cleared the house entirely, Carl returned to the living room, ripping out the A/V cables from behind the TV with his left hand while his right still clutched the shotgun. He crossed the room back to the door, closing it and wrapping the cables around the door knob and tying them to the curtain tie-back in a clove hitch. He remembered Shane’s large, rough hands as he had demonstrated the knot over and over. Twisting the doorknob to test its strength, Carl was relieved to find it didn’t budge. Turning back into the empty room, he let go of a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. The panic of immediate survival began to fade, giving way to unbearable sadness. His back made contact with the door and he slid down, dropping his gun to one side, taking off the useless, empty holster at his thigh. His handgun had fallen in the midst of the explosions and gunfire, while he was holding the shotgun Daryl had given him at the fence. Tears sprung to Carl’s eyes again and he let them fall, bringing his knees into his chest and resting his head on them in defeat. The sun was nearly down now, and although he had found shelter, he felt no comfort or safety at all.  
  
Night fell and Carl didn’t move once. He remained with his back to the door, curled up with his head on his knees but aware, vigilant. He could hear leaves blowing along the ground outside, and an occasional indistinct rustling sound. He didn’t lift his head. He didn’t have the energy or the will to. His tears had long since dried and his breathing had slowed. He felt his eyes growing heavy and although he tried to fight it, sleep overtook him.  
  
When he woke, it took Carl a few moments to remember where he was and how he got there. He had a few blissful seconds of ignorance before reality came rushing back in full force. Images of everyone he lost swam through his mind, their faces frozen in fear just as they had been yesterday when everything changed, everything ended. It was especially painful to dwell on memories of his father, more painful than recalling his mother in the days after Judith’s birth. He allowed the pain and grief to consume him, to rip through his veins like fire until he could no longer stand the weight of it and had to push it down.  
  
When he regained his composure he stood up on shaky legs, turning to confirm that the cables on the door knob were holding. He peered out the window for a few moments but couldn’t see anything. Carl grabbed his gun, heading for the kitchen, dragging a chair from the small dining table along with him. Looking around cautiously, along the counter tops and into the kitchen sink, he pulled the chair up to the counter and stepped up. It was still quite a reach to get to the cans, requiring him to rise up on one foot and slowly nudge the cans closer until he could grab them and pull them down one by one. As he stepped down from the dining chair, he felt a head rush and paused to blink back the black spots clouding his vision. He was hungry, but remembered he had to be careful.  
  
He turned the labels on the cans lined up on the counter to face forward. Five cans. Peaches, water chestnuts, kidney beans, pickled beets and the largest tin, chocolate pudding. Carl’s eyes lit up momentarily, a brief, fleeting feeling of excitement in his stomach that disappeared as quickly as it came. Pulling out the drawers until he found a can opener. He looked at the cans before him, and yearned to open the large can, but he knew his body needed water, and the peaches were the most palatable thing canned in it. He quickly pried open the can and brought the can to his nose. He sniffed it once, smelling the unspoiled fruit inside and examined it for a moment the way his mother has taught him to. The fruit inside looked bright and fresh, making his stomach ache with hunger. Bringing it to his lips he tipped the can slightly and took a small sip of the sweet, syrupy water. It tasted as it should, better than he ever remembered. He downed the liquid in a second gulp, before tipping the fruit into his mouth as well, eating it entirely in only a few mouthfuls. Immediately feeling the rush of the sugar, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and threw the empty can into the sink, feeling satisfied.   
  
He began going through the contents of the drawers, mostly loose cutlery until he found a sturdy, sharp fileting knife with a leather sheath. He dropped it in his pocket, thankful to have an extra weapon. Grabbing his gun, he walked though the living room to the window facing out to the street. Carl could see leaves being stirred up in the wind but couldn’t see any signs of movement outside. He tried to think back to the path he had taken yesterday but in the panic of it all he couldn’t remember which way he had gone or how far from the prison he had come. Couldn’t be more than a few miles, he reasoned. If anyone else had gotten out, surely they would try to go back and check for others. If his Dad made it out alive he would go back for him. Carl clung to that thought as he pulled the knotted cables off the door knob and stepped out into the sunlight. 

  


/////

  


The first thing Michonne saw when she opened her eyes was Rick prone form lying on the floor, propped on his side with old clothing and tablecloths she had found. His breath was quiet but rattling, and she let her eyes remain on him for a few moments until she was sure his breaths were real. Yesterday she had virtually carried his bleeding, worn out body through the door and he collapsed suddenly, and hadn’t shown any signs of life since then besides his wheezing breath. Michonne dragged him away from the door and turned him on his side like she knew she was supposed to do. She had cleared out the food behind the counter, and found a bag of pork rinds, sealed bottle of water and a one ounce bottle of cheap vodka which now lay on the floor beside her. Now again in the light of day she could see the blood coating Rick face and the hole in his jeans where the bullet had deeply grazed Rick leg.  
  
“Rick,” Michonne said softly, shaking him gently and receiving no response. His small, shuddering breaths continued. Taking hold of the fabric of his jeans around his leg wound, Michonne ripped it slowly, exposing the gash filled with fresh and crusted, dried blood. Reaching for the vodka, she unscrewed the small metal cap before dropping it and holding the bottle above Rick leg. She steeled herself for his reaction when she poured the clear liquid slowly into the hole in his jeans, but none came. He was as still and silent as ever, even as Michonne wrapped the cleanest looking piece of fabric she could find around it and tied it securely.  
  
She sat back and continued to search his face for signs of life, but ultimately had to look away when Rick lay unmoving. She bit her lip sadly and stood up, peering out the window and across the property. A lone walker shuffled past on the road, only a silhouette against the early morning sun but distinct in its movements. Her eyes fell on the garage wall along the side of the building, barely visible from where she was standing but she could still read the name written there. She still felt numb, like she had after the refugee camp had fallen when this all began. There had been nothing left of her little boy, no body to cling to, nothing to bury. Mike and Terry lay slumped on the floor, bleeding, pleading, but she stood and watched as their bodies grew grey and cold. She had no time to cry. As the walkers had begun closing in on her that day, she took her blade, carving out their jaws and hacking off their arms. She escaped with them but still utterly alone. They followed her like ghosts, the sight of their mutilated faces bringing a wave of unbearable pain to the pit of her stomach but she made herself feel all of it. It was what she deserved, it was all that she had.  
  
A loud, choking breath suddenly came from Rick, breaking Michonne out of her thoughts. Coming back to his side, she placed a hand on his back, feeling it rising and falling with his shallow breathing. He was warm to the touch under her fingers and that brought her comfort, her hand remaining there. He was still alive, at least for now. For now she had better things to do than let grief consume her. 

  


/////

  


As soon as the door closed behind him, Carl could hear faint growling and shuffling around the side of the house. Remembering the knife in his pocket, he set the shotgun down against the front door slowly and waited. When it came into view, he paused for a moment to make sure there was only one. It saw him immediately and stretched out its arms, mouth gaping and dripping. Carl took a couple steps forward, leading it out onto the road. Feeling confident with just one walker, Carl gripped the knife in one hand and used his other to grab it at the neck, holding it there for a minute to plan his movement. He brought the knife up to the side of its head, plunging it through the temple and yanking it out as the rotten flesh and bone gave way beneath it. The walker fell over him with heavy limbs, making him stumble backwards and fall.  
  
“Well lookit what we have here, boys.” A deep voice came from behind him, making his chest tighten in panic, his hair standing on end. Scrambling to his feet, Carl whipped around and was met with six men, who appeared to have just left the overgrown house next door. Four had guns trained on him and began circling him. The one who had spoken, the oldest, simply grinned at him. He had curly, grey hair and a goatee that sat below yellow teeth. A fat, balding man beside him was rubbing his hands together excitedly.  
  
Carl was shaking, breathing hard as he tried to keep tabs on the armed men behind him while keeping distance from the two men in front of him. He was trapped, alone and defenceless. His gun lay twenty feet away, unreachable. The leader, the man who had spoken, laughed aloud in a cruel, patronizing tone that made anger rise up in Carl despite his fear. “We done found a new friend, d'you reckon?” His laugh echoed in Carl’s head. The man gestured behind Carl, grinning still. Before he could react he was struck on the head and everything faded to black.


	3. Trapped

Carl’s eyes drifted in and out of focus. He saw flashes of leaves on the ground, black boots swinging below him, his head moving in tandem with their movements. He realized he was being carried, slung over the back of an unknown figure. His face rubbed against a dark jacket that smelled of gunpowder and sweat. His head ached sharply and he could feel wet blood on the back of his head. Blinking and squinting, he tried to focus and clear the haze that had settled over his vision. Carl heard voices around him but was unable to distinguish what was being said. He felt a blind panic set in at his disorientation, and he began to struggle. His limbs felt heavy, impossible to control. He felt the heat of the sunlight leave his body and Carl realized he was no longer outside. He felt a rush of nausea as he was hauled over the man’s shoulders and deposited on the floor. His long hair was sticking to his sweaty face, plastered down as though he was soaking wet. Struggling to keep his eyes open, Carl looked up through half-lidded eyes and could see three figures in front of him. He was back in the house, up against the wall of the living room. The Fat Man had been carrying him and now knelt in front of him, his lips twisting into a grotesque smile.  
  
“You all alone, boy?” Carl barely recognized the words as he fought to stay conscious. He could not answer. He trembled instead, his quick gasping breaths of fear all but answering for him. A wave on sunlight hit Carl from over the heads of the men in front of him and then retreated. More silhouettes emerged from the doorway.  
  
“We checked, there’s no one else.” A voice from the back was harder to hear but Carl strained, trying to stop his eyes from rolling back in his head. A quick, crescendo-ing whistle came from the man squatting down before him.  
  
“Well, what do you make of that, huh?” More laughing. Another figure crouched down in front of him. His arms felt like lead and his legs were curled under him uncomfortably. “Shit, kid, you in there?” Hands grabbed his head and Carl’s eyes finally focused on the Leader, they grey haired man, who’s face was now inches from Carl’s.  
  
“Please...” The word left Carl’s lips before he could stop himself. He remembered his bravado at the prison, always pushing to do more, to act more like the adult he felt he was. But now Carl sounded like the frightened child he was.  
  
“You want something for that headache? Bet it’s a doozy.” The Fat Man to the Leader’s right began rummaging through a backpack, pulling out a small container, its contents rattling around inside. Carl could hear the container being opened the hands on his face suddenly changed their grip. One hand grabbed his jaw roughly, prising his teeth open with relative ease. Carl struggled weakly, finally able to move his arms as he brought them up to push the man away. The Leader held onto his face firmly, another man from behind him coming around and pinning his arms to his sides. Another hand shoved past his open lips, dropping several tiny blue pills into his mouth.  
  
“No.. no, please-“ Carl managed to groan out before the hand closed over his mouth entirely. He fought desperately to stand, to bite the hand over his face but he could do nothing but grunt weakly, pathetically. The pills rolled around in his mouth, saliva beginning to dissolve them. His eyes widened in panic when he was unable to stop himself from swallowing most of the chalky spit that threatened to choke him.  
  
“That’s right, Doctor’s orders. Now swallow the rest of it or I’ll do it again.” The Leader’s voice was jovial despite the threat but Carl found his body betray him again by swallowing the rest of it. The hand immediately left his face and Carl gasped for air, leaning his body as far away as he could from the other man holding down his arms. The Leader nodded and stood up, maintaining eye contact with Carl, and took a few steps to the kitchen, picking up the large can of pudding from where Carl had placed it on the countertop.  
  
“Nice find, kid, Lord knows I do have a sweet tooth.” The Fat Man cackled and Carl turned his head to glare at him as coldly as he could, trying not to let his eyes show the fear that paralysed his whole body.  
  
“What was that? What did you give me?” Carl tried to control his voice and keep it from breaking. It sounded tiny to his own ears. He felt his arms growing heavy again, his heartbeat growing deafeningly loud. He swallowed thickly, his mouth bitter.  
  
“Well I guess you’re wantin’ some kind of explanation, hell, I got one for ya,” the Leader said, tossing the can back and forth in his hands. “Feeling a little sleepy yet?”  
  
The Fat Man and the taller, darker man holding him down were staring at him, their expressions making Carl instinctively recoil, trying to free his arms.  
  
“No? Well, after a handful of Lorazepam I doubt you’ll have much fight left in you in a few minutes.”  
  
One of the figures in the back tossed the Fat Man a coil of rope, and he began to tie Carl’s arms together behind his back. He tried to resist, tried pulling his arms apart but it was no use. The man gripping his arms easily held him down while the Fat Man efficiently bound his hands. When they were finished, they both stood, the entire group standing around him, each man seemingly ten feet tall. Despite the intense fear lighting up every nerve in his body, Carl’s heart felt sluggish and his blood felt like molasses in his veins. He feebly attempted to stand, only for the group to laugh and shove him back down. Carl’s eyes welled up in desperation, his eyes looking around him for any possible escape.  
  
“You see, kid, going it alone ain’t an option these days.” The Leader’s voice turned Carl’s attention from the rest of the group. “Still, it is survival of the fittest, and you, my friend have found yourself at the very bottom of the peckin’ order. Hell, I got nothin’ against you, I don’t know you from Adam, but the reality is you have found yourself claimed. You got something we want and we’ve got the opportunity to take it. Ain’t no choice anymore, that’s just how it is.” Sweaty strands of silver hair fell into the Leader’s eyes and he brushed it back with a sigh. He took a couple steps towards Carl and joined the group hovering around him, his blue eyes piercing and cold.  
  
“You try to fight, you get taught a lesson. Easy as that. Now, I know that boop on the head from Tony over there still probably stings a bit, don’t it?” A man in the back with dark skin and a bandana over his forehead bared his teeth mockingly at Carl, who narrowed his eyes, scooting back as far into the wall as he could go.  
  
The Leader spoke again. “Dan done claimed you first, fair and square.” He stepped off to the side, and the Fat Man, Dan, licked his lips in anticipation. “Take him down the hall, but make it quick, Billy here is about ready to bust a nut.”  
  
Chuckling, the Leader looked over to the smallest of the men, his eyes raking over Carl hungrily, making his skin crawl. Dan bent over and tried to grab Carl under his arm to pull him up, but Carl resisted desperately, kicking his legs out and flailing to avoid the man’s grip.  
“Quit it, you little shit,” Dan hissed through clenched teeth, but Carl fought harder, landing a kick to his throat. Dan stumbled back, choking momentarily, before collecting himself, seething with anger. All of a sudden the group stepped forward together, Dan and Tony grabbing him by the hair and ankles.  
  
“I did warn you. I gave you the rules but still you choose to disobey,” That Leader said and he sucked his teeth, staring down at Carl appraisingly. The rest of the group looked on, growing more excited .  
  
“We gonna teach him, Joe?” said Tony, holding a fistful of Carl’s hair, yanking his head back. Joe, the Leader, separated from the group and dropped onto the sofa on the far side of the living room.  
  
“Fairs fair, just don’t mess him up too bad.” Joe’s voice sounded casual, as though he were talking about the weather. Tony and Dan released him then, and Carl felt relief for a moment before blows began to rain down on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos always appreciated!


	4. Courage

Hot, sickly breath was inches from Carl’s face. His bound hands strained for freedom but it was fruitless. His whole body was on fire with disgust and terror and pain but he was incapacitated completely. Carl’s vision came and went but the sound of excited breathing was constant. Hands were pulling his clothes off in the darkness, slicing his shirt open and ripping the rest of the way down until it hung at his sides. Carl cried out, sobbing now, begging. The Fat Man just grinned and laughed wetly through his teeth. Despite his fear, Carl’s heart was beating impossibly slowly in his chest, thickly hammering against his ribcage. He felt like he was underwater, pressure squeezing him from all sides. He tried to vomit, urging his body to reject the pills they had forced on him, but he was already feeling the effects.   
  
His whole body was trembling uncontrollably against the foreign body straddling him, pinning his hips to the bed. When the hands moved down to his belt Carl began to struggle more desperately, trying to will his drugged and beaten body to work. When Carl began screaming hoarsely the man landed a blow to his stomach, forcing the breath from his lungs. Before Carl could inhale, a hand was shoving a sock into his mouth roughly. He struggled to breathe through his tears and busted nose but found unconsciousness taking him again.  
  
Carl woke to pain. Searing, blistering pain took over him and he could not escape. His clothes were gone and he was lying on his front, the man pressed up against him from behind. His cries were muffled by the gag and by the weight pressing down, nearly suffocating him. Carl knew what was happening to him. He knew what men were capable of, especially in this world. Now that it was happening he resigned himself to it, squeezing his eyes shut as his head was pushed rhythmically into the bed. Tears soaked the dusty sheets against his face. He screamed against the gag as the pain intensified. The breathing behind him was heavier, louder and Carl wanted so badly to cover his ears, to make it stop, but he could do nothing but endure it.   
  
When the man finally pulled his sweaty, reeking form off of Carl, he was giggling again. He was wet, sticky, used. Carl felt his face flush in anger and humiliation as he heard the sound of the man pulling his pants back up, Carl’s own still around his ankles. Carl wanted to kill him with his bare hands but he knew the man had won. He took what he wanted and Carl had been powerless to stop it.  
  
Carl cursed himself for being so stupid, so weak that he had allowed this to happen. He could see his Dad’s face staring back at him, eyes full of disappointment and sadness. He couldn’t survive on his own after all, not even close. In this world alone, his only value was as a commodity. With his Dad and the rest of the group gone, this was surviving now. Carl imagined himself back at the prison in his own bed, the safety he had felt then. He remembered his mother’s pretty face, the protection he felt in his father’s presence. Those were now just memories. The man’s horrible laughter filled the room as Carl heard the door swing open. As the Fat Man stepped out in to the hall, Carl heard a new voice and then another set of hands were on him.  
////  
  
It took until nightfall the next day for Rick to finally come around. Michonne had been listening to his breathing becoming stronger over several hours before his bruised eyes finally opened. He had been frantic at first, fighting his own injuries to stand until Michonne grabbed him around the shoulders and held him there on the floor. He began sobbing and shaking against her, but clung back desperately and buried his face into her shoulder. Feeling tears on her own cheeks she let them fall and they disappeared into Rick’s dark hair. Her arms were encircling him but she felt greatly comforted by the warmth of the body next to hers, the swelling of his chest with every breath. He was still here. It felt like hours had passed before Rick finally pulled back from Michonne, his bloodshot eyes searching her own. He looked frail and old in the small amount of moonlight coming through the window.  
  
“How long...?”  
  
“You’ve been out for a whole day,” Michonne said, helping Rick up as he stood slowly. It was pointless trying to stop him. “Easy-“  
  
“Did you see anything? Anyone?” Rick asked, limping towards the window and peered out at the dark street ahead.  
  
“No, I circled around the property a few times while you were out but I didn’t see anything. Walker tracks but nothing else.” Michonne’s answer devastated Rick despite him already knowing the answer. “I found food and a bit of water, here.” Michonne held out the bottle of water and the pork rinds, but Rick ignored her, still looking out the window.  
  
“In the morning we need to backtrack towards the prison. If Carl made it out maybe he left a sign, maybe we can track him...” Rick’s voice drifted off, realizing the futility of his plan before Michonne could voice it for him.  
  
“The whole area is full of walkers, you’d never get close.” Michonne’s voice was soothing, not patronizing and she reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. “I know you’re scared, Rick. I’m scared too.” Her eyes met his and she allowed herself to be vulnerable. She couldn’t hold Rick together when she was barely hanging onto her own sanity. “But I know Carl, he’s strong and he’s smart and if he’s out there he’s looking for you too.”  
  
Rick’s eyes glazed over momentarily with emotion, a ghost of a smile crossed his features before it was swallowed up by darkness.  
  
“Thank you,” Rick said gruffly, turning away from the window and eased his body back down onto the floor. Michonne retrieved the bag of pork rinds and the water from the other end of the room and held them out to Rick again. This time he took them. They sat in silence, passing the bag between them as they sat on the floor below the window. They were largely in darkness, the edges of their faces merely silhouetted against the glow of the moon. Finally Rick broke the silence.   
  
“I understand if you want to leave. Nothing is holding you here. I can’t move on until I find Carl, or I know what happened to him. I cant-“  
  
Michonne found Rick’s hand beside her and took it into her own, turning to look at him.  
  
“I’m not going anywhere.” She said, her voice low and comforting. “I’m with you.”  
////  
  
The next morning, Carl woke to the warmth of the sunlight on the side of his face. His brain took a moment to process the pain and his nakedness before the events of the night before came back to him. It was not a horrible nightmare. His hands were still firmly tied behind his back, and his torn clothes hung loosely from his body. Time had faded the cloudiness in his head and Carl found himself relieved that he could move, that he could think and that the gag was mercifully missing. Raising his head tentatively, Carl’s wide eyes searched the room for his tormentors but he found he was alone.   
  
The barren room was devoid of anything but basic furniture, and Carl found himself face down on the bed. The sheets below him were stained, permeated with the scent of blood and sex. His stomach lurched at the memories that came flooding back into his mind. Pausing to listen cautiously as a frightened animal, Carl could hear faint snoring from outside the bedroom door. He waited for a few moments, but the snores sounded consistent and some distance away. The thought of the men waking and returning the bedroom was enough to panic him and he felt his breathing quicken.  
  
His eyes were drawn to the window just to the side of the bed. It was small, with two separate panels that divided it. Carl thought about trying to remove the window but without his hands free he wouldn’t be able to, at least not quietly. Looking around for something sharp to cut the bindings on his hands, Carl found nothing and felt tears spring to his eyes. He couldn’t go through that again. What those men did to him would break anyone. He would rather die than have to face that fate again. Carl knew he had to make a move, even a desperate, foolish one if it meant that he was fighting back. Death now seemed like a peaceful state, and he wasn’t afraid. His fear lay here on this bed and lay sleeping outside the door.  
  
Gritting his teeth against the pain, Carl rolled himself onto his back slowly, the bed barely making a sound. He paused again and listened to the breaths outside which remained unchanged. Carl’s heart was hammering as he cautiously sat up, pain flaring in his backside and along his bruised ribcage. He swallowed down a cry and sat for a minute, blinking under the sunlight, considering his next move. His pants hung around his ankles, belt buckle threatening to clink against the floor if he moved too quickly. Carl decided he had no choice but to work them carefully off his feet until they slid onto the floor softly. Carl stood slowly, feeling hopelessly exposed and vulnerable in his naked state. He swallowed and tried to gather strength from somewhere, deciding on a sentence he hadn’t dwelled on in a while. You’re gonna beat this world.   
  
His mother’s voice filled his head and Carl hung onto those words, taking slow deliberate steps towards the door. When he reached it he pressed his ear up against it and listened. The snores sounded like they were some feet away, at least not in the immediate hallway outside. Carl stared at the knob, heart thumping wildly in his chest. He had to manoeuvre his body around so that he could grasp it behind him with his bound hands, turning his body with the knob until he felt it click lightly and give way. Carl stood for a few seconds with his back to the open door and he had to close his eyes to calm himself before he could turn around. As he did he could hear more distinct snoring and determined the closest one was in the other bedroom across the hallway, the door ajar. The rest of the snoring seemed to be coming from the living room.  
  
Carl pulled open the door inch by inch until there was just enough room for him to squeeze through. He stepped out of the bedroom and into the hallway before approaching the other bedroom door and peering inside. The Fat Man, the first one to touch him, lay sleeping peacefully, his uncombed, dirty hair sticking out around the bald top of his head. Carl tightened his jaw at the sight of the man who has just hours previously held him down and used him up like he wasn’t even human. Here the man lay sleeping and ignorant, impervious to Carl’s stare from the doorway. Despite the hate that consumed him at that moment, Carl knew he couldn’t strike back, not naked with his hands bound in a house with five other sleeping monsters.  
  
Continuing down the hall, he passed the empty, dark bathroom before reaching the entry to the living room. Carl heard a cacophony of hideous snores just beyond the wall as he allowed his mother’s voice to fill his head again, drowning out the sounds around him. When he fully stepped into the room, Carl caught a glimpse of four of the men slumped over on the floor, two empty bottles of bourbon broken on the floor. The Leader, Joe, was the lone figure spread out on the couch, his hand resting protectively on the handgun that lay over his heart. The front door seemed impossibly far away, though in reality only about twelve feet away. The men all lay close to the kitchen, with the exception of Joe, who’s position on the couch was very close to the door. Carl felt goose bumps erupt all over his naked body, every nerve in his body alive with fear. Carl began to make slow, calculated steps forward, shifting his eyes from Joe to the rest of the men and back to the bedroom door down the hall. When he finally reached the door, he had to turn around to grab the knob again. He felt for the interior lock and clicked it into the unlocked position, the small sound piercing his eardrums in his heightened state. His body was trembling uncontrollably. Carl knew the old rusty door would not cooperate the way he wanted it to, but if he had the chance to run, no matter how small he was going to take it.  
  
Pulling the heavy wooden door towards him, it cracked against the doorframe, making Joe snort and shift in his sleep just feet away. Carl froze and waited before continuing, panic rising up in his chest. When the interior door was open sufficiently, Carl chanced a glance out of the glass storm door and could see the bright early morning sun just above the trees. The metal latch clicked and the door opened soundlessly, enough for Carl to slip through. He felt the cold panic lift from his chest to make room for the swell of hope that rose up in him. His body stepped into the sun and he turned to ease the door shut as slowly as he could with his shoulder. The hinges hissed and creaked slightly as the door fell back into place and Carl felt his heart clench in his chest. When he looked up through the closed door, Joe’s steely blue eyes were staring back at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos are appreciated and keep me writing! I welcome any feedback.


	5. Perseverance

Carl’s bare feet pounded the ground sloppily as he ran, his legs weak and uncoordinated. The sun was hot on his bare skin but he felt ice cold all over, his breath coming in quick gasps and sweat drenching his body. With his hands tied behind his back, Carl had to lean forward to keep his balance as he tripped and stumbled forward desperately. When Joe’s eyes met his on the other side of the door, his feet had already started running. Carl heard shouts and bangs from inside the house before the door slammed open behind him. He didn’t chance a look back. He could hear their pursuit and it willed him to run faster towards the tall grass that ran along the opposite side of the street.  
  
“Son of a bitch!” Carl could hear Joe’s distinct low voice and the sound of a gun cocking. Carl closed his eyes but did not stop. A tree root at the edge of the road caught his foot and he staggered forward, mercifully remaining upright as the crack of a gunshot sounded behind him. Carl felt the bullet pass over his head, his hair blowing with the displacement of air. He choked out a sobbing breath when he felt the tall indian grass hit his skin and he burst through it. It was several seconds before he heard a second disturbance in the grass that told him Joe was not far behind. Carl could hear the cat calls of the other men running further behind. They were laughing as though this were a game.  
  
Carl opened his eyes, adrenaline coursing through him. He could only see the tall, bushy stalks of brown grass ahead of him but he knew the trees lay a few yards further. The grass whipped hard against his face making it hard to see but Carl could see the evergreens that rose up from the tops of the grass ahead at the end of the road. If he could make it there, if he could keep running, there was still hope. It didn’t have to end with him being dragged back to hell. He wouldn’t let it. He would rather die.  
  
“Y’ain’t gonna get far bare ass naked with your hands tied, boy!” Carl heard fatigue in Joe’s voice which powered his legs even faster. He was coming up on the trees quickly, the approaching darkness of the dense forest looking like the most beautiful oasis. As his body tore through the last of the grass he was momentarily bathed in sunshine before the cool shade of the wood overtook him. He listened for Joe in the grass behind him, finally hearing him exiting the grass several moments later. Carl heard another shot that ripped through the bark of a nearby tree. He could hear coughing and sputtering behind him as Joe struggled to keep in pursuit.  
  
“You’re dead, kid, one way or another!”  
  
Carl heard shouts coming from the men further back. He felt no pain, only fear and desperation. It filled him up and fuelled his heart’s desperate beating, the frantic movement of his legs. Groaning from all sides told Carl that all the noise had attracted walkers but he just kept running past their ragged, ghostly bodies, fingers reaching out and trying to grab hold of him. Carl just ran. Every step was a struggle, the uneven, leafy forest floor requiring all his attention. There was no time to look back or to strategize. He could only run.  
  
The shouts began to fade behind Carl gradually until he could no longer hear any pounding footsteps pursuing him. He still wouldn’t allow himself to stop. He could no longer hear the dead stumbling towards him through the trees, only the sound of birds chirping and the hum of cicadas nearby. His heart felt like it was about to explode in his chest but Carl felt panicked, sure that if he stopped he would be found. The scenery whipped past him in a blur of endless green. His lungs were screaming for oxygen through his inadequate, sobbing breaths. The trees ahead of him thinned out, allowing sunlight to spill through in bright, heavy beams that took over his vision. Carl closed his eyes against the white light and simultaneously felt his ankle give out beneath him. He hit the ground hard, naked body rolling before coming to rest on the forest floor.  
  
Carl opened his eyes and coughed against the dirt, chest heaving. He looked frantically around him, seeing nothing but trees and sun. His head began to clear as he took deep gulps of air. He felt immediately aware of his nakedness. Despite being alone, Carl felt horribly exposed and curled his legs up to his chest to cover himself. Pain began to set in all over his body, and his shaking limbs prevented him from standing immediately. Carl took stock of his injuries for the first time, looking down at his thin, lanky form. His whole body was covered in fine scratches from running, small drops of blood seeping from the edges. His pale skin was covered in large bruises of bright red and purple to a deep, almost black colour that made his own body look foreign to him. He was sticky with dried blood and other substances that made bile rise up in his throat. Carl tried to steady his heavy breathing, concentrating on the stillness around him.  
  
Something like happiness filled him for a moment with the realization that he was alive. It seemed impossible, but the rough earth beneath him and the gentle sweep of the wind over him confirmed it. Whether it was by sheer luck or divine intervention, Carl didn’t know. The relief that filled him momentarily began to recede as his mind began racing once more. He was still alone. Everyone was still dead and now he probably would be too. But he wouldn’t die like this, waiting for a walker to find and consume him. He would keep moving until he couldn’t anymore.  
  
An ache in his arms brought Carl’s mind back to the rope binding his hands. It still felt tight, but with sweat slicking his skin it was able to slide up and down his wrists slightly. Some feet away, a downed tree lay, split jaggedly down the centre and the base tinged black with rot. Sharp, angled pieces of freshly splintered wood rose out from the separated tree trunk like knives. Carl attempted to stand, cursing as the movement disturbed his most sensitive injuries. Tears sprung to his eyes but he fought the pain and shakily stood, stumbling to the tree before turning and placing his hands over the sharp wood. Carl jerked his hands in a sawing motion, feeling warmth on his wrists from the heat produced by his movement. He persisted, panting again from exertion and feeling the wood scraping and cutting his hands. When the rope finally gave way and his arms fell heavily to his sides he had to brace himself against the tree to stay standing.  
Looking around once more, Carl could see nothing but forest. He wasn’t sure how far he had run but nothing in the landscape looked familiar. His body was fighting just to remain upright, but Carl willed himself to stagger forwards. If he was still moving he was still alive. He still had a chance.  
  
////  
  
At sunrise the next morning Rick and Michonne left the restaurant in search of Carl and other survivors. Rick was still injured but healing, his raspy breathing requiring him to stop every once in awhile to rest but only for a few seconds. Michonne could see he was pushing his body as far as it would go but there was no stopping him. They circled the woodland, the roads that surrounded the prison but as expected were kept far back by the clusters of roaming dead. Rick found himself picking out the smallest walkers among the trees, scanning their faces for his son’s long brown hair and freckled skin but saw nothing but long rotted bodies.  
  
It was a backwoods County, all scrub land and pasture with little civilization at all for several miles in every direction. Going on runs from the prison always required a vehicle and plenty of gasoline to reach anywhere worth scavenging. There was little chance of anyone lingering in the woods and so they continued to push out further, moving in concentric circles around the woodland surrounding the prison. They were slow to make progress but Rick insisted on being thorough. Michonne thought he sounded like the sheriff deputy he once had been, that she had heard about. Rick was determined to find his son and Michonne allowed him to take the lead until she saw his strength failing in the late afternoon.  
  
“Rick, you need to take a break, just for a little while.” Michonne placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him, speaking gently. She knew Rick could be unpredictable and difficult to control when he began to slip into his own darkness, and she tried her best to tether him to reality. Rick kept walking.  
  
“No, we should keep moving. There’s some buildings up ahead.” His breathing grew more raspy until he doubled over, gasping and choking. Michonne lowered him to the ground, holding him as he swallowed down the pain from his damaged ribcage, whole body shaking. Rick’s breathing began to slow back to normal but he remained sitting, looking weak and tired.  
“Have some more water, you need it.” Pulling the bottle from Rick’s bag she held it to his lips and he took a small sip before pulling back.  
  
“We should save it,” Rick said with a rough, hoarse voice. Michonne nodded, grateful that he swallowed some at all. Her own body was exhausted, sweat drenched and sticky. They needed to find more water and food soon or they wouldn’t be able to make it much further. Rick took his knife from his pocket and dragged his broken body to the closest tree. He carved his son’s name in the bark for what must have been the fiftieth time that day.  
  
They had decided on leaving signs in their wake, carved into trees and written in walker blood on the side of any surface they could find. As dangerous as it was to advertise their path to anyone , they had no choice if Carl was nearby. They carved his name alone, knowing anyone else from the prison group would recognize that it was Rick looking for his son and follow them as well. It was all their tired, grief-stricken minds could come up with.  
  
“If those buildings are clear we should camp there for the night, nothing else around.” Michonne said, surveying the farmland around them and the small, makeshift outbuilding that stood beside a partially collapsed barn in the distance. Rick seemed to consider this for a moment, wanting to go further before the sun set for the day but seeming to realize his body simply wouldn’t allow it.  
  
“Alright, let’s get moving then.” Rick said, gathering up his shaking limbs and standing with Michonne’s help. His arm was thrown over her bare shoulders, her dark skin warm under the sun. Rick leaned heavily on her, his body growing weaker and slower with every step. He could hear her pants and grunts of exertion, bearing the brunt of his weight as she pulled them forward. Rick found himself staring at her face, her eyes just as determined as his and he felt his heart swell with emotion. When her eyes met his she seemed taken a back by the intensity of his stare but she kept moving across the field of wild oats until she reached the dilapidated barn.  
When she reached the exterior wall, she left Rick outside leaning against the collapsed wall of the barn while she went inside to clear it. Sunlight streamed in through the collapsed roof, allowing Michonne to see there was nothing inside but broken, rusted machinery. The small shed beside it was filled with large, unmarked bags stacked floor to ceiling. Michonne unsheathed her katana and slices open one of the bags, black sunflower seeds spilling out at her feet. Grinning, she threw two handfuls into her satchel before returning to Rick outside the barn. She pulled the seeds from her bag to show him, Rick’s face softening slightly.  
  
He pointed over her shoulder. “There’s a well.”  
  
Michonne turned her head to see an old well, the wood covering it looking just as rotten and old as the barn. She looked back at him. “Think it’s safe?”  
  
“Only one way to find out.” Rick said, attempting to stand before Michonne pushed him down and approached it herself. It was deep and dark, smelling of moss and grass. Although barely attached, she gingerly grabbed the pulley and began to raise the bucket, the structure groaning and screeching. When she raised it up high enough to grab, she dipped her hand into the clear, cold water and brought it to her nose.  
  
“Smells alright, looks clear... but we should still boil it.” Michonne said, pulling her own empty water bottle from her bag and filling it before lowering the bucket back down the well. She returned to sit by Rick against the collapsed barn wall, feeling relieved that they could keep going but grateful they could rest for now. Together they carved Carl’s name along the straightest planks of wood they could find in large, jagged letters. When it was done, Rick turned to Michonne again, his eyes filling with unshed tears. His expression was of love, grief and exhaustion and Michonne stared back, feeling her own eyes beginning to well up. Rick’s hand grasped hers and he finally looked away, swallowing thicky. When he spoke his voice was barely a whisper.  
  
“Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and feedback would be lovely.


	6. Shattered

Daryl ran for miles after the speeding car, long after it had disappeared into the distance. When exhaustion overtook him and his legs would no longer carry him forward he collapsed to his knees in the street, crossbow clattering to the ground beside him. Tears stung his eyes and blinded him in the sunlight. Behind his tears the beams of light looked so much like wispy blonde hair. Daryl scrubbed at his eyes with his palms, making them sting with dirt and sweat. When his vision cleared he looked around him, over the sun-drenched pavement littered with leaves to the rolling countryside around it. The pain of loneliness tugged painfully at his heart but he felt at home alone among the trees. His time with the group was some sort of past life. His time alone with Beth had been just a daydream. Now she was gone, as good as dead.  
  
Daryl must have kneeled there for hours. His legs were numb by the time he staggered to his feet, the sun now behind him in the sky. His eyes focused on the horizon ahead of him, the road slowly sloping downward before it was swallowed by the trees. A dark shape was visible near the horizon, a car. It was one of the last signs of civilization he had seen for miles since the funeral home. Out this far, even farms were few and far between. There was little choice but to keep moving forward. He bent down and picked up his crossbow before he began to walk down the hill.  
  
The sun was hot on his back and Daryl felt drops of sweat dripping from his hair and onto his vest. He carried a bottle of water with him, still more than half full, but couldn’t will himself to drink it despite his thirst. It could be days before he found clean drinking water again. He moved to the side of the road where there were a few trees to give him some shade and keep himself out of view of anyone alive or dead passing by.  
  
As the car came closer into view, Daryl could see footprints surrounding it. Small, closely placed steps fanned out around the car twice over. Daryl raised his crossbow, crouching slightly as he approached from the behind. He kept his eyes trained on the back window but couldn’t see any movement inside. As he came up beside the rusted sedan Daryl caught a glimpse of white, naked flesh and recoiled slightly, expecting the walker to sit up and press against the window. But the figure just lay pale, blood stained and still. Daryl couldn’t immediately tell if it was male or female, but the body in the backseat was young, it’s arms folded over itself protectively. A mess of dark hair concealed the figure’s face. Daryl stood for a few moments with his crossbow aimed and ready, waiting for some sort of movement.  
  
When it came it was a shuddering breath that shook the small form, ribcage straining and expanding before falling. Daryl blinked and lowered his crossbow cautiously. The car door handle was already coated in dried, bloody fingerprints. Daryl dug his fingers underneath the flap and pulled backwards, the door cracking open loudly. Daryl stared at the small, naked form that continued to shake but otherwise didn’t move. Daryl could see its breathing had quickened and thought about reaching out to it before thinking better of it, left hand still gripping his crossbow tightly.  
  
Instead, Daryl cleared his throat loudly, causing the small body to stir immediately, pushing itself against the opposite door, cowering in fear. Daryl could see now it was a boy, despite his attempts to cover his body. Long dark hair hung over his face, leaving only his chin visible. Daryl backed up, raising his hands to show he meant no harm. He bent forward slightly, trying to see the boy’s face under his dirty hair. The kid was still shaking, his skinny knees knocking together. Daryl dropped his crossbow gently to the ground.  
  
“I ain’t gonna hurt ya,” he said, trying to soften his gravelly voice. The boy’s head jerked up at the sound, breath coming out in gasps. When the boy spoke Daryl thought he had imagined it.  
  
“Daryl?” The voice was so familiar but seemed infinitely younger, more fragile than he could remember. His heart clenched in his chest and he lowered himself to the ground next to the car door in shock. He was unable to speak for a few moments before he gathered himself enough to respond.  
  
“Carl? Jesus...” Daryl choked out, unable to stop his eyes as they raked over the kid’s naked, battered body. Daryl reached out a hand to him, uncertain of what to do with it, but pulled it back when Carl immediately tensed up and kicked out at him. “Hey man, easy, I’m sorry...” Daryl shuffled backwards, giving Carl more space.  
  
“Are you alone?” Daryl didn’t want to ask the question, already knew the answer, but had to ask it anyway. Carl sniffled once, his hair shaking as he nodded his head. Daryl felt sick as he took in the boy’s blood streaked legs and bruised body. He thought he knew the answer to his next question too, but it came out of his mouth automatically, his voice cracked and quiet. “What happened to your clothes?”  
  
Carl began to cry then, tearlessly, silently, just shaking. Daryl swallowed thickly, his thoughts going to Rick and he found himself hoping that Rick had met his end before he could see his son in such a state. Carl looked so much younger in that moment, reminding Daryl of the day he lay crying in his mother’s arms as Sophia stumbled rotten and dead from the Greene’s barn.  
A snarling sound coming from the trees behind the car shook Daryl out of his thoughts. He stood, aiming his crossbow and waited until the walker stumbled out from the tree line. It was a relatively fresh corpse, the newest he had seen since leaving the prison. Daryl let out a breath as he sent an arrow through the walker’s forehead, watching it crumble heavily to the ground. Daryl crouched down once again, leaning slightly into the back seat of the car.  
  
“I’ll be right back, just hang on.” Carl was still crying softly, however he was too dehydrated for tears to fall. Daryl stood again, walking around the back of the car to the walker sprawled on the edge of the gravel road. He reached down, pulling out the arrow with a squelching sound. He looked down at the walker, it’s jeans and sweatshirt only mildly ripped and bloodstained. Daryl considered this for a moment before grabbing the hem of its sweater and tugging it roughly over its mutilated head. He did the same with the jeans, unbuttoned them and ripping them unceremoniously from the body. He returned to the car with the clothing in his fist, holding it out to Carl.  
  
“Put these on. They won’t fit but it’s all we got.” Daryl stood there holding out the items to Carl for several seconds before the boy finally looked up, hair falling away from his face and finally making eye contact with Daryl. He looked completely shattered, haunted, his blue eyes unfocused and sunken. A shaky hand came forward hesitantly and took the items from Daryl before falling heavily down at his side.  
  
“I can help, I can see you’re hurt...” Daryl started, unsure of how to proceed when the boy just sat there blankly with the clothes in his lap. Carl looked up again, fear in his eyes and quickly shook his head. Daryl nodded, pulling back from the car door. He turned so that his back was to Carl, blocking the open door with his body. “Go ahead then, I’ll keep watch.”  
  
Daryl didn’t hear an answer but the car shook slightly against him as Carl moved inside. He thought about turning around when he heard the boy gasping and crying out in pain but didn’t want to scare him again. The Carl he remembered hadn’t shown any fear since his mother died, hadn’t even resembled a child since. But this frightened, naked body hunched over and bleeding in the backseat was the same kid. He had the same pointed nose his mother had, his father’s blue eyes and square jaw. Daryl didn’t know what to say to this Carl so he waited silently. The car gave one last shudder before becoming still, and Daryl took his time turning back around.  
  
When he looked down into the backseat once more, Carl was sitting up. The walker’s stained sweater hung loosely from his body, covering the horrific bruises that hugged his sides. Carl made brief eye contact with Daryl before looking down at his lap nervously. Although still skittish, Daryl noticed Carl’s breathing had calmed and his eyes seemed more aware and present. Digging in his bag, Daryl pulled out his bottle of water and passed it into Carl’s eager hands that reached for it immediately. He took a large, single gulp before passing the bottle back to Daryl, feeling no relief.  
  
“Thank you.” Carl’s voice was hoarse, cracked. “I thought everyone else was dead.”  
Daryl bit his lip and swallowed the lump forming in the back of his throat. He pictured Carl in the aftermath of the prison attack, suddenly orphaned and alone. Daryl knew the feeling well. It had crept back into his head when Beth was stolen only hours before, like a familiar routine.  
“I got out with Beth, was with her until today... but she’s gone.” The finality of saying it aloud made his heart ache painfully. Carl looked up and met his eyes briefly before nodding sadly. He didn’t ask how and Daryl didn’t elaborate.  
  
“How long have you been here?” Daryl asked, gesturing to the car. Carl wrapped his arms around his torso, looking around him at the interior of the car before looking back up at Daryl.  
  
“Overnight,” Carl said quietly, his breath quickening once more. He hadn’t been here long, must have wound up here out of sheer desperation. Daryl tried to imagine what fate had forced Carl naked and cowering into the car. He wouldn’t let himself believe that someone had beaten and violated Carl so ruthlessly, even though it was plain to see. It couldn’t happen, not to Rick’s boy. Not to the boy he would have died a thousand times over for. Daryl’s mind was racing but he tried his best to remain calm for Carl’s sake.  
  
“Can ya walk? We shouldn’t stay here, we’re too exposed out on the road,” Daryl said, looking over his shoulder, over the car and into the trees.  
  
“I-I think so.” Carl gritted his teeth as he shuffled over the car seat towards the open door. Daryl stood back as Carl climbed out of the car, legs weak and unsteady. Daryl reached out a hand instinctively, but Carl flinched and stumbled backwards, leaning heavily against the side of the car. “Please, don’t...” The boy begged desperately. “Please... I can do it.”  
  
Daryl withdrew his hand immediately, as though bitten. He tried to soften his voice further. “You don’t gotta be scared of me.”  
  
“I’m not.” Carl’s voice was stronger, irritated. He blinked against the sun behind Daryl head. “Where do we go?”  
  
“I dunno. We keep walkin’, stay hidden in the trees until we can find somewhere safe.” Daryl didn’t pretend to have answers, there weren’t any. Daryl looked down at Carl’s old footprints in the road, his eyes following their path until they reached the trees on the other side of the road. “Ya came from this direction?”  
  
Carl nodded, still bracing himself heavily against the car, panting.  
  
“Alright, then we keep followin’ the road downhill, that way.” Daryl gestured, pointing down the slope that seemed to roll for miles. He looked at Carl concernedly as the boy took a slow step forward, limping heavily. Daryl threw his crossbow over his shoulder, keeping a safe distance from Carl as they began to walk silently. Daryl found himself replaying Carl’s injuries in his mind, the shock of seeing his pale skin juxtaposed against deep, black bruises.  
  
Something happened. Something really bad. Still, Daryl couldn’t bring himself to press Carl on it. The boy had the same wild, unpredictable eyes of a frightened animal on the verge of taking off running. The same eyes his father had when he was chasing Lori’s ghost over the prison grounds. Rick would know what to do. Rick would have a plan, a way out. Daryl didn’t have a plan, didn’t have a clue, but the nagging loneliness was completely gone and was replaced with a new determination. He could survive if he wasn’t alone anymore. If he needed to step up and make sure Carl was safe he would try. He owed it to Rick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment or kudos if you enjoyed and let me know where you see this story going. I've got some things in mind but I'm mostly just writing whatever feels natural.  
> Also if you spot any spelling/grammar mistakes I apologize, I'm writing on a tablet.


	7. Hope

The sun was setting but Daryl and Carl hadn’t seen anywhere safe to camp all day. They had walked along the woods adjacent to the gravel road for hours but made little progress. Carl was weak and injured, his frail body limping heavily with every step. Daryl followed behind him, stopping every few feet to keep some distance between them. He didn’t want to frighten Carl any further. Carl hadn’t said a word since they left the car, hadn’t even looked back at Daryl. He just kept walking for hours until his body wouldn’t take him any further and he collapsed face down in the leaves.  
  
“Carl!” Daryl yelled in alarm and ran forward, falling to his knees next to the boy. Carl was trembling, pale and his breaths came out in small gasps. Daryl slowly reached out his hand, tentatively laying it on the boy’s shoulder. He felt him tense beneath his touch but Carl’s eyes remained closed. Daryl slowly rolled the boy over, carefully laying him on his side so that he could breathe easier. Despite his obvious physical distress, Carl’s face looked peaceful, his features soft.  
  
Daryl stood up, looking around them at the darkening forest. They were at least twenty feet from the road and separated by dense trees. They had come some two miles from the car after hours of walking, barely making any progress, but at least they were hidden. Now it appeared that they didn’t have a choice but to camp in the trees. Carl had collapsed and Daryl himself was too weak with heatstroke himself to carry him.  
  
Taking notice of the downed trees surrounding them on the forest floor, Daryl began to drag logs and branches towards the spot where Carl lay. He raised a few of the larger logs up, bracing them against one another in a tipi shape and filled in the spaces between them with smaller logs and branches until it was fairly solid. Standing back to examine his work, Daryl stared at his makeshift camp with a sad smile. Merle had taught him how to build a shelter like that when he was half Carl’s age. They’d often sneak off and camp out for days like this. Just like real Indians, Merle had said.  
  
Daryl grabbed Carl gently under the armpits and dragged him backwards into the shelter, careful to not aggravate his injuries. He then took the boy’s knees and slowly bent them towards his chest so his whole body was inside, curled up on its side. He looked down at him briefly and could see the boy had grown painfully thin in just a few days. Daryl let out a frustrated breath before stepping out of the shelter. He picked his crossbow out of the grass and held it in his grip loosely, surveying the area around the shelter with a knotted brow. The birds were quiet, the wind was low, allowing him to hear anything approaching. Twilight was beginning to give way to complete darkness, swallowing up the forest around him. A small rustling in the leaves ahead of him made Daryl raise his bow immediately, heart pounding. 

  


////

  


The sound of a small crackling fire was the first thing Carl heard when his head started to clear. He opened his eyes to darkness and immediately felt his body come alive with terror, shaking and struggling to stand. He could see the faint red glow of embers and small, leaping yellow flames. His chest was tight and Carl felt like no oxygen was reaching his brain despite the speed of his breathing. He was choking, retching, backing up but found he was closed in. He felt wood all around him, trapping him from all sides. A voice was whispering to him, approaching him with heavy footsteps in the leaves.  
  
No. Not again... please...  
  
The figure bent down before him, the small fire illuminating the left side of his face. It was familiar, it sparked a memory, but all Carl could do was curl into a ball to protect himself. The sound of his own panicked breathing filled his ears. The figure came closer, mouth moving with words Carl couldn’t hear. When he felt a hand reach out and grasp his shoulder he cried out hoarsely, trying to make himself as small as possible. A voice was becoming clearer, speaking in a constant stream.  
  
“Carl... its just me. Come on man, ya gotta quiet down.”  
  
The hand remained on his shoulder despite Carl’s attempts to shake it off. The voice became louder and louder in his head, pushing down his own frantic thoughts. He felt like he was emerging from underwater, suddenly aware and cold. He lifted his head from his knees, looking from the hand on his shoulder to the face just inches from his own.  
“Daryl?” Carl gasped out, fighting to control his breathing. The hand left his shoulder slowly, Daryl‘s eyes looking down to meet his.  
  
“Ya passed out, I had to make a camp here for the night,” Daryl said in a voice barely above a whisper. “You should eat.”  
  
A skinned possum lay next to the small fire, it’s charred meat sitting on the coals. The smell of burning flesh and hair made Carl feel a rush of nausea.  
  
“No, I’m okay.” Carl tried to focus on his slowing breathing and heartbeat, the cool night air on his face.  
  
Daryl gave him an impatient look, apparent by firelight. “When’d ya last eat?”  
  
“I found some food the night I got out of the prison,” Carl answered weakly. His brain flickered to an image of cans lined up on a countertop, of large, rough hands tossing them around in a sunlit kitchen. Carl shut down his brain before it could continue, closing his eyes and scrubbing at them with his fists angrily.  
  
“That was days ago, that’s why ya passed out,” Daryl said, already reaching back and ripping a leg from the possum with a crack. He held it out to Carl, sighing in frustration when the boy didn’t reach out to take it. “Come on, man, we ain’t goin’ nowhere tomorrow if ya can’t walk.”  
  
Carl considered this for a moment before he reached out and took the meat from Daryl, ripping small pieces off and stuffing them into his mouth. Chewing and swallowing was a chore, especially for the tough, sinewy possum meat. Daryl backed out of the opening to the shelter, sitting at the entrance beside the small fire. When Carl had peeled all the meat from the bone he tentatively crawled forward and out of the shelter, sitting beside Daryl. He tossed the bone back onto the coals, orange sparks leaping up around it. Looking around them he could see a faint outline of the trees, above them the sky was flecked with thousands of stars.  
  
Carl could feel Daryl’s eyes on him. It didn’t make him feel threatened or scared but he felt shame engulf him completely. Daryl had seen his naked body in the car, saw the blood on his legs and bruises the shape of hands all over. He must know now how weak he was, to allow himself to be treated like that. Carl felt filthy, the dried blood on his legs making him itch uncomfortably.  
  
“I know somethin’ happened,” Daryl said softly, alternating between looking at Carl and down at his feet. “Ya don’t gotta tell me or nothin’, I get it.”  
  
Carl met his eyes with a mixture of sadness and gratitude. He wanted to banish those memories to somewhere he could never retrieve them again. Daryl didn’t seek answers, didn’t need to. It was apparent that the boy had been used up and spit out like trash, and that’s exactly how Carl felt.  
  
“You’re still here. That’s somethin’.” Daryl said, eyes lifting to the stars above them.  
  
Carl swallowed, wishing he could find some comfort in Daryl’s words but felt only suffocating sadness. He survived by chance, by sheer luck. But what good was surviving when it was so easy for someone to blow his home and family apart, to destroy his body? Everything he loved had been stolen, every dream had been shattered . Surviving was just prolonged suffering.  
  
“Why does it even matter?” Carl felt the words leave his mouth in a moment of anger, the injustice of it all making a heat rise in his body. Daryl looked at him for a moment, face unreadable.  
  
“We ain’t the only ones who got out. Can’t be,” Daryl said, scanning the barely visible trees around them. “Your Dad’s gotta be out there somewhere.”  
  
“He’s dead,” Carl said through gritted teeth. “If he’s not dead then he left me there! He left me to-“ Carl fell silent, unable to continue, anger still pulsing through him.  
  
“If he left it’s cause he had to, just like you. Must be more than a dozen paths he coulda taken out of there in any direction,” Daryl said, trying to reason with him. “I’m sure he’s not alone, either. He’s out here looking for ya, wouldn’t have gone too far.”  
  
Carl brushed it off, unwilling to let his mind consider that his Dad was still alive. If he opened his heart to hope like that he would only be let down. Tears filled his eyes and threatened to spill. Carl bit his lip hard until it stung, drowning out his chaotic thoughts.  
  
“Michonne, Glenn, Maggie, Tyreese... no way all of them went down.” Daryl continued, sounding confident in a way that made Carl look his way. “Give it time, we’ll find our way back to ‘em. Just gotta start lookin’.”  
  
In spite of himself, Carl felt himself leaning closer to Daryl, feeling unexpectedly comforted by his words. Daryl was smart in an unconventional way, one of the few men who’s opinion mattered to Carl. Having him speak so certainly about his father had cemented hope in Carl’s gut before he could stop it. It was the one spark of happiness he could still feel when he thought of his father. The thought of him out there searching for him was almost too much to wish for.  
  
Hours later, morning swept across the forest. Sunlight reached the horizon breaking through the trees in beams of golden light. Daryl and Carl began walking parallel to the road once more, just missing a marked tree in the harsh light of the sun. Scratched into the bark in long, jagged lines read CARL.


	8. Fear

They had been walking all morning, the sun gradually rising up over their heads and stinging their skin with its searing heat. Daryl led the way this time, listening to Carl’s uneven steps behind him. The boy would stagger every so often, refusing Daryl’s attempts to steady him with an angry swat and defiant stare. He wouldn’t allow touch. Daryl understood his fear, at least he could imagine, but Carl’s stubbornness was beginning to wear on him the more he stumbled and tripped.  
  
By midday, they had come to a small community of homes and businesses along a single stretch of country road. A row of shops painted in coordinated, sun-bleached shades of blue sat across from several small Victorian homes. A ripped, fraying American flag fluttered in the wind from above the liquor store in the centre, windows shattered. A tiny general store lay on one side, it’s exterior walls covered in several pairs of deer racks. On the other side was once a post office, now just an abandoned storefront littered with paper and debris. Beyond the buildings, a rail crossing could be seen covered in tall grass. Several walkers shuffled along the street ignorant to their location. Daryl looked down at Carl behind him.  
  
“You should wait here while I clear it,” Daryl said in a low voice, reaching into his pocket and retrieving a folded knife. He held it out flat in his palm, waiting for Carl to take it, mindful of keeping his distance and not reaching out to him. Carl stared back at him, his eyes narrowing.  
  
“I’m coming too! I’m not stupid. I’ve done this before.” Carl’s voice was aggressive, verging on too loud, making Daryl’s pulse quicken. Carl snatched the knife out of Daryl’s hand quickly, flicking out the blade with his thumb and dropping his hand to his side while staring at Daryl with a blistering expression. Daryl pursed his lips in annoyance, trying to keep an eye on the road while he reasoned with Carl.  
  
“You’re injured and there’s a lot of ‘em. You wait here and I get it done quick.” Daryl tried to be firm without showing the anger he felt but was losing the battle quickly. Carl’s expression didn’t change.  
  
“You’re not leaving me too! I’m coming with you!” Carl’s voice cracked slightly, both in fear and anger. The knife was clutched tightly in his hand, shaking heavily.  
  
Snarling growls and scraping footfalls altered them to the dead approaching from the road. Four mossy, decaying bodies began to stumble down into the trees with their jaws gaping and teeth snapping. Daryl stepped in front of Carl protectively, raising his crossbow and firing at the closest one. It’s outstretched arms dropped and its head snapped back as the arrow pierced the centre of its forehead and it crumpled into the grass. Reloading and firing again, the next one was blown backwards by the impact as it was speared through the eye with an explosion of dark blood. The remaining two walkers were too close now for Daryl to reload, almost within arms reach. He readjusted his grip on the crossbow and struck one in the temple with the stock, feeling the soft skull splinter and cave beneath.  
  
Looking back, Daryl realized Carl was no longer behind him. Feeling his chest constrict in panic, he looked around frantically until he saw Carl several feet away leading the last walker backwards slowly. The boy held the knife out in front of him as he stepped back, keeping himself just out of the walker’s grip. His face was expressionless, like he was in a trance, and his movements were lethargic and weak.  
  
Daryl swore in frustration and reloaded his crossbow quickly, shooting the walker through the side of the head. The arrow passed through with a squelching sound, and its body fell forward heavily onto Carl, who was instantly crushed beneath it. Daryl rushed forward, looking around quickly for other walkers but saw none. Carl lay beneath the downed walker with his eyes wide and glassy, struggling feebly but unable to free himself.  
  
“Help me! Get it off, please...” Carl begged, choking out a sob as he tried to push the dead torso off of him. Daryl grabbed it by the leg and dragged it backwards, dropping it as Carl scrambled to his feet. The boy stood with considerable effort and hunched over with his hands on his knees, breathing heavily and shaking. Daryl bent down to his level, leaving a few feet between them, feeling all his frustration melt away immediately. Carl had his eyes squeezed shut and began gripping his long, dirty hair in his fists.  
  
“Hey, it’s alright. Take a breath,” Daryl said softly, and heard Carl comply, his exhale choking off into a sob. The boy’s dirty, bruised face slowly looked up and met Daryl’s gaze with shame and hopelessness written all over it. He looked dead on his feet, worse than when he was found in the car. His skin was an alarming shade of white and he shivered convulsively despite the heat. His body was nearing it’s limit, barely staying upright.  
  
Daryl looked back at the road, straining his eyes to scan the buildings and railway in the distance for any sign or movement. He could see nothing beyond the gentle sway of the treetops in the wind and the fluttering dance of the shredded flag. He felt conflicted now about leaving Carl, knowing he was in no condition to defend himself, but realized that taking him along to clear the buildings presented it’s own set of dangers for them both. He looked back at Carl, who had released his hair and straightened up somewhat, his breathing calmer. His eyes, however looked dull and unfocused.  
  
“Y’alright?” Daryl knew it was a stupid question, but didn’t know what else to say.  
  
Carl wrapped his arms around himself protectively, his body shuddering and teeth chattering. “I’m sorry... I can’t do any of this anymore. I’m not strong enough. You should just leave me, I’m just going to die anyway.” His voice sounded matter of fact, detached. Daryl stared back at him incredulously.  
  
“Ya think I’m gonna just leave ya out here to die? Is that what ya want?” Daryl took a daring step closer to Carl which made him back up defensively, his brow knotting up. “Ya wanna just give up?”  
  
“I don’t know!” Carl exclaimed too loudly, his voice carrying through the trees making Daryl bring a finger to his lips frantically.  
  
“Quit your hollerin’!” Daryl said through gritted teeth. “I ain’t gonna let ya die out here, even if ya want to. Hate me for it, whatever.”  
  
Carl flinched visibly at the intensity in the older man’s voice, making Daryl soften his expression slightly. He wanted to talk some sense into the boy, not scare him further.  
  
“You’re comin’ with me, but you’re gonna stay behind me and keep quiet,” Daryl said sternly. “You’re gonna let me handle things like ya know I can. You’re gonna trust me.”  
  
Daryl began collecting his spent arrows, ripping them out of the three walker heads with a sharp pull. Carl limped along behind, knife still in his shaking hand as he followed Daryl out onto the road.

  


////

  


Three days had passed since they had found the barn. In that time Michonne could see Rick physically improving , his breaths becoming less laboured and the gunshot wound to his leg beginning to dry up and heal. He was able to get around more easily, requiring less support from Michonne as they continued searching. They scoured the woodland and back roads during the day, returning to the barn at night for shelter and water. It was the lone structure around and was visible for miles in every direction due to the flat farmland. It was a dangerous place to stay for any length of time for that very reason but Rick was convinced anyone from their group passing through would also have to seek shelter there. They had left countless signs and markings along the way to guide anyone left alive to their location but so far hadn’t seen anyone.  
  
Mentally, Rick would fluctuate between a calm, determined sense of purpose to a defeated hopelessness nearly everyday. He started each day talking animatedly with Michonne, planning their routes with police precision. He would be confident and energetic for a time until the day wore on and they found nothing. They would turn back for the barn when the sun began to set, giving the landscape one last look over as they passed. By this time each day, Rick would be consumed by despair, grief catching up to him once more.  
  
As they crossed the fields, the cloudless sky was glowing pink and yellow, the sun just disappearing over the distant treetops. Cicadas hissed in the tall grass as they crunched through it together. The barn was visible at the other end of the field, a pile of wood and vegetation at one end and at the other still partially intact. From the other side of the field it was possible to read the message Rick had written in blood, even in the dim twilight.  
  
Rick’s feet moved in tandem with Michonne’s as they walked, her presence comforting despite the overwhelming sense of defeat he felt. Today was another unsuccessful day. They spent the day overturning corpses they found along the road, walking the woods in a grid. They had come across little but an abandoned car, the inside streaked with dried blood, a nearly naked walker rotting beside it in the heat. There were footprints there, barely visible on the dusty gravel but they seemed to trail off quickly into the forest, leaving no other sign of life.  
  
Rick’s body seemed to go on autopilot every time they ended their search for the day. He allowed himself to sink into his thoughts, to dwell on every horrifying possibility until he wasn’t aware of his feet moving at all. Judith’s wails echoed in his head like a constant white noise that made him want to rip out his hair. He pictured his son being consumed, screaming as he was devoured by gnashing teeth and dripping red mouths. Rick couldn’t stand it, fighting every horrible vision but they came regardless.  
  
He was suddenly pulled back into his body by a warm hand grasping his own, and turned to see Michonne looking at him with concern written on her face. Her dark brown eyes reflected the last glow of the sun, wet with unshed tears.  
  
“Rick? Stay with me, we’re almost there.” Her voice betrayed her own misery, her hand around his gripping tightly. He focused on her voice and the firm pressure of her hand until the screaming inside his head calmed to a whisper.  
  
They closed in on the barn, moving quietly and listening for any sign someone had ended up there while they were gone. They circled around the perimeter with their weapons raised but found nothing, not even a walker. It was now nearly pitch black, the moonlight catching little but the tops of the wild oats covering the field like a blanket. They made their way to the erect end of the barn, pulling several heavy planks out of the way before climbing inside and replacing the wood behind them.  
  
Their temporary shelter was small and damp, with splintered wood littering the floor. They had cleared a small area to sleep on the ground, the night time chill making it necessary that they sleep side by side. Her warm weight against him every night calmed his tortuous thoughts and allowed him to slip into sleep with some sense of comfort. Something had changed between the two of them before Rick could even comprehend what it was. He clung to her optimism as though it were truth, and drank in her words of comfort for the temporary relief they provided. But Rick knew time was running out, that slowly their hope grew further detached from reality.  
  
Tonight as they settled into the corner of the barn, Rick felt his eyes well up and spill hot, salty tears that ran down his cheeks and into his beard. Michonne too, looked as though she was running out of hope as she sat with her back against the barn wall, head bowed. The small shaking of her shoulders was visible in the moonlight coming though the gaps between the wood of the barn wall. Rick reached out and put an arm around her. He pulled her into his side, feeling her wrap her arms around his middle.  
  
“We’ve got one route left to search tomorrow,” Rick said, voice cracking, trying to find something for them both to cling to. He could feel her tears soaking through the fabric of his shirt. “We’re gonna find something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos are much appreciated! Comments and suggestions are always welcome.


	9. Truth

Carl adjusted himself on the floor, trying to find a comfortable position on top of the piles of paper and cardboard he had arranged for a bed. Daryl sat on the other end of post office looking out of the tall, cracked front windows that overlooked the dirt road outside. They had settled here for the night after searching the general store and liquor store, Carl once again too weak to keep moving. His body was failing quickly without rest or water. In their scavenge they had only turned up a bag of peanuts which made Carl’s dry lips sting and mouth ache for water but Daryl made him eat a few regardless.  
  
The interior of the post office was now illuminated by the moonlight, catching the shine of a row of brass mailboxes that were set into the wall beside the window. The room was very small and had been ransacked completely at some point. The counter was behind in a separate room attached through an open service window shattered with bullet holes. Carl lay as far back from the broken glass as he could with his body against the wall. The air inside was musty and damp, the occasional breeze through the broken glass chilling their sunburned skin.  
Carl could feel Daryl’s gaze wander occasionally over to him from the window but he kept his head down, wrapping his arms around himself and shivering. He didn’t like the feeling of having Daryl’s eyes on him constantly, though they were caring instead of probing. He tried to ignore the sensation and focus on warming his extremities, breathing hot breath into his sleeves to warm his fingers.  
  
“I’ll have to go and find some water tomorrow, take a look around and make sure we didn’t miss anythin’ in the houses across the street.” Daryl said, his deep voice filling the small room. Carl turned over to face Daryl, body aching from the strain.  
  
“And you want me to stay here?” Carl muttered angrily, looking at Daryl with a cold expression as he held himself up on an elbow.  
  
“Ain’t got no choice,” Daryl answered back matter-of-factly, watching Carl’s body tremble heavily. “I’ll keep my eye on this place. I won’t go far, I promise.”  
  
Carl swallowed thickly, the thought of Daryl leaving suddenly seeming terrifying. Daryl seemed to sense his apprehension and returned his gaze to the window to avoid his sad eyes. Carl felt like he was a small child, wanting desperately to express himself but unable to come up with the right words. He didn’t want Daryl to leave. If he left he might not come back. If he was alone again...  
  
“If they find me... if they come back...” Carl said in a croaky whisper, his brain trying to stop the invading memories that boiled up and spilled over in his mind. Daryl’s eyes were on him again but Carl instead looked down at his hands, unable to meet his gaze under the weight of his own shame and fear.  
  
“Who?” Daryl said softly, sitting up and leaning closer. “If who comes back?”  
  
Carl was trembling violently now, nerves alight. His heart yearned to tell Daryl everything, to release all the pain he was trying so hard to swallow down but his brain fought back, trying to contain it. A voice inside him recited the horrible, dirty words that had been forced in his ears until he couldn’t stand it anymore. He blinked his eyes back into focus and met Daryl’s concerned gaze. His tongue felt like lead in his mouth, unwilling to cooperate.  
  
“T-the men... who found me,” Carl breathed out, barely a whisper. Silence hung in the air for several minutes, a low ringing sound pressing in on his ear drums. Daryl shifted again, moving subtly closer to Carl to hear him better. Carl felt as though he were in a dream, exhaustion and dehydration making his head swim.  
  
“Before ya ended up in the car?” Daryl’s voice lifted him out of the sea of chaotic thoughts swirling in his mind. The older man’s question was patient and even, sounding as though it had been rehearsed a few times before being spoken out loud.  
  
“Yeah,” Carl replied, trying to make out Daryl’s face in the moonlight. His brows were furrowed but he didn’t look angry or upset, calming Carl’s shaking limbs somewhat. He swallowed. “I ran away. They chased me but I got away.”  
  
“Yeah, ya did,” Daryl said affirmatively, as though Carl had accomplished something and Carl felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment. He didn’t deserve to keep on living. He hadn’t done anything right. He hadn’t kept his gun on him like his Dad told him to. He hadn’t fought back hard enough. He was foolish and inexperienced after all, just like everyone always made him feel at the prison.  
  
“I wish they had killed me,” Carl said, feeling his throat constrict painfully but was unable to cry anymore. His body was too weak and tired to continue feeling this constant pain. Daryl’s face sunk visibly from across the room, a distressed sigh leaving his lips.  
  
“Carl, man... I...” Daryl sputtered, visibly recoiling. He took a moment to look out the window and gather his thoughts before turning back to Carl. “I know ya don’t mean that.”  
  
“I do. I can’t stand having it all in my head,” Carl insisted gravely, the constant anxious ache in his stomach starting to make him feel sick.  
  
“Then ya gotta let it out. Talk about it.” Daryl’s casual tone was obviously carefully considered, but Carl appreciated that he didn’t press him directly. Daryl was good at giving him space, like he understood Carl’s need to have some control. Carl considered Daryl’s words for a few minutes, letting his voice hang in the stale air.  
  
“I was stupid. I left my gun for a minute and they surrounded me. Six of them.” Carl stopped to collect himself for a moment as he felt his pulse race. He felt like he was rubbing salt into a fresh wound. “They knocked me out. When I woke up they made me take a bunch of pills. Then they tied me up... th-they were laughing at me.”  
  
Carl lowered his eyes to the floor and took several deep breaths. His face felt hot. Daryl didn’t say a word, just looked back at him with a mixture of pity and understanding. Jeering laughs echoed in Carl’s head as though he were still in that house, still trapped. The hair on his arms stood on end with the memory of their hands, their fists.  
  
“They beat me,” Carl whispered, conscious of his bruised limbs pressing painfully into the floor. When he spoke again his voice was barely audible. “Then they took turns...” He trailed off, unable to say it out loud.  
  
Daryl seemed to understand, his face moving from compassion to deep sadness. The man seemed to be holding something back, whether tears or a scream Carl wasn’t sure. The ache in Carl’s stomach intensified while his vision blurred with exhaustion. He had said it aloud, and in doing so made everything concrete and real, no longer just a nightmare.  
  
Carl’s tired thoughts drifted to his family, feeling the familiar yearning for his mother’s gentle touch and his father’s fierce protectiveness at the same time. His mind gifted him one fleeting vision of his sister and her soft, golden curls that hung around her face like a halo. His mind turned dark again when her image dissolved as fast as it appeared.  
  
“In a way I’m glad Judith is gone,” Carl said sadly, brushing sticky hair out of his face. “Now no one can hurt her.”  
  
Daryl’s face crumpled with emotion for just a second before he was able to recover. Carl knew Daryl had a soft spot for the little girl, showing brief moments of a softer, gentler nature when he held her. The older man swallowed thickly and drew in several shaky breaths to regain his composure while Carl felt his tired eyes begin to droop. Daryl seemed to notice Carl drifting in and out of consciousness and straightened up, staring out the window with misted eyes.  
“Why don’t ya try to get some sleep? I’ll keep watch,” Daryl’s voice sounded strained and gravelly, seemingly miles away as Carl’s brain fought to remain conscious. A black fog began swallowing up the room around him until Carl knew no more.  
  
////  
  
The tall, east-facing windows of the post office were set aglow by the first light of morning. The damp chill of night was being quickly replaced by a sweltering humidity inside the small room. Daryl felt the agonizing dryness of his mouth and the pulsing headache that signalled an urgency for water. He sat up, stretching his arms above his head and looked over at the boy sleeping across the room.  
  
Carl lay on his side, his long, dark hair falling down over his face. He looked pale, his skin visibly dry as he drew in small, shallow breaths. He looked more gaunt and hollow as time went on, death following behind him like a vulture. Daryl felt his throat constrict painfully as he watched Carl sleep, the boy’s words from last night still casting an imposing darkness over the room. It was worse than Daryl imagined, far worse. Carl was irretrievably changed by what happened to him. No words of comfort could restore what he had lost. He seemed to be surrendering to his body shutting down.  
  
Daryl stood slowly, feeling lightheaded as he gathered up his pack and crossbow from the ground. He knew he had to leave the boy while he went on a run but felt a nagging guilt at the thought. When he turned back to the boy, Carl’s eyes were wide open and fixed on him.  
  
“I’m gonna go for water, hunt along the way,” Daryl said, tossing his crossbow over his shoulder. “I’ll try to be quick but I might be gone for awhile.”  
  
Carl nodded, looking frightened as he sat up against the back wall of the post office with a great effort that left him panting. Daryl saw his eyes look past him out onto the street, scanning it nervously though the broken glass. He looked as though he was slipping away again to that place of fear where Daryl couldn’t reach him but he seemed to gather himself with a few deep breaths. Daryl gestured with a nod to the floor beside Carl where the knife he had given him lay on top of ripped paper and debris. Carl picked it up and stared at it laying in his shaking hand.  
  
“Keep the knife close. Stay inside and stay quiet,” Daryl instructed firmly, looking back to the window and out over the street. “If anything happens, ya need to hide.”  
  
Carl seemed unsure of his plan, but no doubt felt the painful thirst that plagued them both relentlessly. He stared back at Daryl for a few moments before nodding, dropping his eyes to stare at the floor. Daryl felt an intense rush of guilt at the thought of leaving him in such a state but tried to shake it off, knowing they needed supplies immediately. He took a steadying breath as he stepped towards the door, grasping the handle before looking back at Carl once more.  
  
“Hey,” Daryl said gently, Carl’s frightened face lifting to meet his with pleading eyes. “It’s gonna be alright. I’ll be back, I promise.”  
  
Giving Carl one last apologetic glance, Daryl turned the knob and slowly pushed the door open, the wood frame cracking and splintering as it gave way. When the door shut behind him and he felt the warm breeze on his face he felt a little calmer. He had a few houses to search across the street but knew the chances of finding water there were pretty slim. He would have to venture into the woods to look for a stream for fresh water but he felt confident, having done so countless times before. Prioritizing their needs, he determined quickly that water came first and set out into the trees.  
  
////  
  
“Should be something up ahead. These ATV trails lead somewhere,” Rick said, eyes following the winding, overgrown paths that carved their way through the greenery. His feet crunched through the grass and fallen leaves, Michonne’s footfalls audible behind him as she followed. They had been following the trails since shortly after sunrise, taking out walkers as they stumbled out intermittently along the path. It was now the afternoon, the sun having crossed the sky over their heads already.  
  
“Has to be a town around here. It’s been miles since we’ve seen one,” Michonne panted behind him, the heat and humidity making their trek harder. It was one of the last dying days of summer, the leaves beginning to turn and fall in increasing numbers, however the sun persisted despite the changing seasons.  
  
They had set out this morning with heavy hearts, knowing their search grid was nearing completion with nothing at all to show for it. They didn’t voice their fears to each other that this day would also end fruitlessly. They didn’t need to. It hung in the air around them, nearly palpable. The only words they exchanged were of encouragement, trying to urge one another to keep going. The trees were slowly thinning out around them, allowing them to see further into the distance unobstructed.  
  
“See that?” Rick pointed ahead, stepping to the side to allow Michonne to see around him. Just beyond a pair of scarlet oak trees, a house was barely visible peeking through the crimson leaves. Rick brought a hand over his eyes to block out the sun as he strained to get a better look.  
“Looks like there’s a few of them,” Michonne said. Barely visible beyond the first house were several other buildings partially swallowed up by vines and grass. As they began walking again, slower and more cautiously then they had before, a dirt road came into view at their furthest sight line. “We should wait for awhile, check it out from a distance-”  
  
“No,” Rick interrupted, glancing up at the sun’s position in the sky. “We need all the time we have to search before sundown. We’ll be careful, take it one at a time.”  
  
Michonne nodded at him with a sad smile, her feet following his automatically when he began to move. Rick carefully planted his boots as he walked, trying to approach as quietly as possible. He heard the faint metallic scrape of Michonne unsheathing her katana behind him, his own hand coming to rest on the grip of his gun seated in the holster at his hip.  
  
They could hear the birds singing sweetly in the trees around them as though the world were whole again, as if nothing had changed. The first house came into view before them, a shabby Victorian with a wraparound veranda made of crumbling, ornate moulding. They approached it slowly, circling around to the front where a long driveway connected it to the dirt road through some scattered trees. The other houses lay on either side, set forward a bit onto the road.  
  
Rick crouched down and walked along the perimeter of the first house, urging Michonne along beside him who followed with her sword in her hands. On the other side of the dirt road, a row of storefronts stood with smashed windows and debris littering the ground. Rick signalled to Michonne to back up out of view of the road, following her as they came back to stand behind the house where they were well concealed. A rusted back door hung loosely off the hinges. It would be loud to open but entering from the front would make them vulnerable with so little cover and so many places for someone to hide. Rick turned to Michonne and leaned in close to her to whisper.  
  
“We go in-”  
  
Rick was cut off by a loud clattering sound from inside the house, followed by a loud thump and then silence. Rick felt his pulse quicken, heart hammering in his chest as though it were trying to break free. Michonne’s eyes widened in alarm, raising her katana as she stepped to the other side of the back door, flattening her body against the back wall. Rick retrieved his Colt from the holster, holding it down in both hands as he copied Michonne’s position.  
  
Inside they could hear more banging and thudding sounds that became louder, the home visibly shaking until they were certain whatever was causing it was right on the other side of the door. Rick and Michonne exchanged a final glance at one another before the door burst open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait!


	10. Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! This story isn't dead. Thanks for the comments and kudos, please keep them coming. I love to hear your feedback.

Daryl’s back landed against the cobwebbed backdoor, the walker’s decomposing hands wildly reaching out for purchase in his flesh. In the struggle he could barely hear the groaning and cracking of the wooden door until it splintered away from the frame and collapsed behind him, sending him flying backwards out into the sunlight. The walker landed heavily on top of him, still snapping and reaching its rotten limbs upwards towards Daryl’s face.  
  
He grabbed the walker around the throat in one hand and held it back with the full length of his arm. His crossbow lay uselessly beside him, just out of reach where it had fallen from his grip. He grit his teeth and stared into the corpse’s soulless eyes for one fleeting second before a flash of silver penetrated between them, sending a splash of dark, rotten blood over his arm. A blade came into focus inches from his own face before it was withdrawn with a squelching sound. The walker collapsed instantaneously, becoming dead weight in Daryl’s fist.  
  
He blinked in surprise before releasing the body, rolling to the side to dodge it as it fell onto the grass. In the light of the afternoon sun Daryl could see two tall shadows on either side of him, standing eerily still. In a quick, calculated movement, Daryl grabbed his crossbow and leapt to his feet, hauling the bow up to his eyes. It fell as quickly as it had been drawn, clattering to the ground beside the walker’s still body. Rick and Michonne stood before him plain as day, chests heaving and weapons at their sides.  
  
Rick let out a stunned, relieved laugh and threw his arms around him, pistol hanging loosely in his hand. Rick was damp with sweat and shook against him as he cried and laughed simultaneously. Over his shoulder Daryl could see Michonne’s beaming face as she returned her katana to its sheath. Her eyes were cloudy with tears that she wiped away quickly with a gloved hand. When Rick released him Daryl immediately grabbed Michonne and pulled her into him warmly. She let out a single sob as she gripped him tightly, her long dreads against the side of his face. When he felt her let go he took in the sight of her and Rick, both looking older and much thinner than he remembered. But alive.  
  
“We’ve been searching for days...” Rick’s voice was comfortingly familiar, filling Daryl up with a sense of security. “I knew we weren’t the only ones who got out. I knew it.”  
  
The comfort he felt from Rick’s voice began to darken when his thoughts turned to Carl. Rick didn’t know Carl was alive. To tell him would mean giving him immeasurable joy however the truth of what happened to his son would absolutely destroy him. He boy Rick had known, the boy Rick had tried so hard to protect had been irreparably damaged. Michonne’s voice broke his reverie.  
  
“Are you alone? Have you seen anyone?”  
  
Daryl swallowed heavily, dry tongue scraping along his raw throat. When he spoke his voice was gravelly and coarse.  
  
“D’you have any water?”  
  
He dodged her question skilfully, in his own opinion, needing to buy himself some time to consider how to proceed with reuniting Rick with his son. Michonne didn’t press him and immediately reached into her bag pulling out a crinkled plastic water bottle that was nearly full to the top. Daryl wanted to greedily drain it himself but knew that Carl was dangerously dehydrated and needed water as soon as possible. It was why Daryl left him alone in the first place. Instead, he took a small, considered sip, feeling some fleeting relief.  
  
“I have more with me. We found a well, a farm, a few days ago. We’ve been going back there at night. Been canvassing the area looking for anyone... looking for Carl.” Rick’s voice cracked with emotion, his face turning to anguish. Daryl looked away for a moment.  
  
“I’ve been stayin’ in the Post Office ‘cross the road. Haven’t been here long.” Daryl spoke quickly, his chest constricting and his thoughts racing. Michonne stepped back and squinted over the tall grass, looking over to where the three dilapidated shop fronts stood in the distance. Daryl walked past her around the house and towards the road as though he was being pulled by a supernatural force. He paused briefly and turned his head to speak over his shoulder without looking back.  
  
“Come on.”  
  
It took a few seconds for Rick and Michonne to fall into step behind him but they did without saying a word. When they came up to the edge of the road they lingered for a moment behind the overgrown grass, looking out onto the street and into the distance. There was nothing but the soft, slow dance of the trees in the wind and the sound of cicadas humming around them. Daryl led the way once more, pushing aside the grass and stepping onto the gravel road, hearing the others follow suit.  
  
“We’ve seen small clusters of walkers around but nothing like we saw at the prison. They must have broken up once everything calmed down. We should be safe in this area for awhile.” Michonne said quietly as they approached the storefronts. Daryl nodded absently at her, his pulse quickening they closer they came. The tattered flag fluttered against the exterior wall and shattered glass crunched under their shoes as they stepped up to the door. Daryl’s head was beginning to swim and his hands shook as he reached out for the doorknob and pushed inside, broken glass coming free from the frame and falling at his feet.  
  
The stale smell of the room hit their noses, the heavy, humid air making it hard to breathe. Daryl heard Michonne unsheathe her katana with a metallic clink and Rick raise his pistol behind him but he didn’t bother with his crossbow. An invisible resistance slowed Daryl’s entry to the room, as though he was walking through water. It was silent and still inside, the nests of cardboard and paper he and Carl had slept on visible on either side of the room. Daryl breathed heavily in the silence, allowing it to press into his eardrums for several seconds before he spoke.  
  
“Come on out.”  
  
Rick made a small noise of confusion, keeping his pistol aimed directly ahead into the empty room. A rustling sound from behind the office door startled them, Michonne leveling her katana and crouching low. The door swung open entirely and Carl’s thin form collapsed heavily against the doorframe, his long, bony arms gripping it for support. He looked up from beneath a mess of dark hair and his sunken eyes widened at the same time Daryl heard the clatter of Rick and Michonne’s weapons falling to their feet.  
  
“Dad?” Carl’s voice was small and disbelieving, his body quaking with the effort to remain upright.  
  
Rick let out a strangled sob and crossed the room in barely a second, grabbing Carl around the shoulders and pulling him against him. The boy was too shocked to resist and simply collapsed to his knees, Rick falling with him. Daryl felt his heart swell at the sight, looking back to Michonne to see tears streaming down her face as she met his gaze. She mouthed a “thank you” before joining Rick and Carl on the floor, running a hand through Carl’s hair as the stunned boy sat stiffly against the door.  
  
Carl’s eyes met Daryl’s and the man could sense fear alongside happiness as Rick gripped him tightly, unrelentingly, whispering a stream of broken sentences.  
  
“Thank god... I knew, I knew... you’re here...”  
  
Carl seemed to snap out of it slightly, his eyes becoming clearer. He pulled away from his father, giving Rick and Michonne an opportunity to see the dark bruises and scratches on face. Rick reached out to touch his split, crusted lip but Carl pulled back, dodging the touch. Michonne looked back to Daryl who simply looked away, not knowing what the right words were to say.  
  
“What happened?”  
  
Daryl felt relief that Rick’s words were directed at Carl rather than him, but Michonne’s gaze was penetrating. Daryl looked past her to Carl, who was looking back at him with a pleading, fearful expression. Carl didn’t answer, but Rick lay a hand on the back of Carl’s neck and tried again.  
  
“Hey,” Rick said softly, comfortingly, and Carl slowly met his eyes. “What happened to you? Where have you been?”  
  
Rick’s question caused Carl’s eyebrows to knot together momentarily before he spoke, glancing between Daryl and his father.  
  
“I got out by myself... Walkers chased me for days until Daryl found me. I fell and knocked myself out.” Carl followed this with a quick, insincere laugh, the lie taking Daryl by surprise. He nearly fell over and had to catch himself, Michonne looking backwards at him questioningly. When she turned back to Carl she scrunched up her nose.  
  
“Where the hell did you get that?” She gestured to his dirty sweatshirt, stained with blood down the front. It hung loosely from his torso, obviously several sizes too big. Carl looked down at it for a moment and Daryl watched him closely as he considered what to say. A brief, off-key laugh left the boy’s mouth, sounding nothing like the boyish cackle Daryl had heard a few times previously.  
  
“Got it off a walker. My old one was toast. I guess this isn’t much better...” Carl said, his voice artificially light and casual as he tugged at the fabric.  
  
  
Michonne and Rick exchanged glances while Carl caught Daryl’s eye again with a desperate, pointed expression that he recognized. He was being asked to close the door on what happened and never dare to open it again for Rick’s sake. For Carl’s. He was being asked to pretend that all of the horror and pain they have been carrying around for days wasn’t real. Daryl stared back at him, completely lost, unwilling to lie to Rick but too much of a coward to speak the truth himself.  
  
He suddenly remembered the water bottle still in his hand. He held it out for Michonne to pass to Carl, who grabbed it and uncapped it before throwing his head back and taking large gulps. Michonne grabbed the end of the bottle and lowered it before he could drain it.  
“Go slowly. Your body needs time to adjust.” Her voice was soft and motherly. She was always tender with Carl when he needed her to be. Rick sighed as he took in his son’s frail form once more.  
  
“You don’t look good. When did you last eat?” Rick said, gaze lingering on Carl’s pale, waxy skin.  
  
Carl pulled the bag of peanuts out of his pocket and passed them to his father who examined them and then handed them back.  
  
“Daryl’s been hunting some, too.” Carl’s voice brought Rick and Michonne’s attention back to him. Rick stood and turned back to Daryl, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing it. His eyes were intense but kind.  
  
“Thank you.” Daryl nodded in return, feeling white hot shame boiling in his stomach. He hadn’t done anything. Daryl looked over to Carl, who met his stare as Michonne helped him over to his bed on the floor. Carl’s eyes studied him appraisingly, clearly trying to determine his trustworthiness. Daryl felt as though he was being pulled in two directions, wanting simultaneously to tell Rick everything he deserved to know and wanting to maintain the trust he had built with Carl over the last few days. Daryl was the only one who knew the truth, the only one who had any insight into the panic and fear he was plagued with.  
  
Carl hissed in pain as he lowered himself to the floor with Michonne’s help. Rick immediately turned back to his son but Carl held a hand out quickly, preventing him from intervening. Michonne looked down at him with concern as she kept a hold on his arm.  
  
“I’m okay... really,” Carl said, trying to brush them off.  
  
“You don’t seem fine.” Michonne’s voice was lower, more accusatory. Carl ignored this and freed his arm from her grip.  
  
“We should have a look at you, see what’s going on.” Rick said, causing Carl’s head to snap to him immediately.  
  
“I’m fine, just banged up.” His voice sounded constricted. Rick studied him for a moment wordlessly, eyes filling up, before grabbing him into another embrace. The boy was too exhausted and weak to push him away this time. Rick whispered comforting words to him that seemed to do more to reassure himself.  
  
“I’m sorry I couldn’t find you. I won’t leave again, I swear...” His voice cracked and he shook against Carl as he held him, the boy’s face was blank. Michonne stood and grabbed Daryl’s arm.  
  
“Let’s give them a minute.”  
Daryl followed her back out the door, not chancing a look back at Carl. They stepped into the bright sunlight and closed the door as softly as possible over broken glass. The street outside was still calm with no walkers in sight. Michonne’s hand fell away from the katana on her back as she surveyed the tranquil street. Daryl moved to the side of the building next to the door where there was some shade to protect him from the sun. Michonne followed him, her gaze so heavy on the back of his head he could feel it. When he stopped and turned to her she seemed to be thinking of the right words to say.  
  
“What happened?” Daryl held her gaze for only a second before lowering it to the floor. He hated this but it was what Carl wanted. He could do nothing but shrug.  
  
“I got out with Beth. Spent a few days walkin’, lookin’ for supplies. Someone grabbed her, took her. She’s gone jus’ like that.” Daryl kept his voice steady despite the pain of Beth’s absence in his gut.  
  
“Then I found Carl in real bad shape,” He tried to be as truthful as he could while sticking to Carl’s story. “We’ve jus’ been lookin’ for food and water. Walked ‘til Carl couldn’t no more and then we came here.”  
  
Michonne frowned. “You seem different... and Carl doesn’t seem like himself at all.”  
  
Daryl considered this observation, knowing there was no avoiding the fact that Carl was noticeably skittish and withdrawn. Again, Daryl decided to stick to the half truths he was comfortable with.  
  
“Kid’s been goin’ on for days knowin’ his baby sister got ripped apart by walkers.” Daryl’s tone was purposefully harsh, wanting to put an end to this interrogation. “Thought Rick went the same way. He didn’t say much to me about anythin’. I’ve jus’ been tryin’ to keep him alive.”  
  
Michonne’s expression softened and she reached for his hand, squeezing it reassuringly before letting go. “And you did.”  
  
Daryl looked away shrugging, rejecting any praise she wanted to give him because he didn’t deserve it.  
  
“It’s second nature now, to just keep going.” Michonne said as a breeze blew over them and through the shattered window of the Post Office. “Even when it seems pointless.”


	11. Haunted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit longer. It feels like we're finally getting into it. Let me know what you think!

Daryl and Michonne decided to continue searching the area for supplies, promising to return by nightfall. Carl had been quietly disappointed to see them go, missing the familiar sound of their voices that made the raided Post Office seem more like home. His father’s presence was comforting, but Carl felt himself becoming anxious around him, feeling weighed down by his own shame. This was a secret he had to keep to save his own sanity and his father’s. If his Dad were to know what had happened to him while they were separated it would hang over them like a black cloud, casting a shadow over everything they did. Carl didn’t see a way that his father wouldn’t feel some level of disappointment that his son had failed to protect himself. He was supposed to be strong. It had to be buried forever.  
  
Carl sat on the floor, Rick hovering around him, still eyeing his injuries with a stern face while he wet a rag and brought it to Carl’s lip. Carl flinched back, not in pain, but recoiled instinctively before he could stop himself.  
  
“I haven’t even touched it yet,” Rick said while bringing it forward again, slower this time.  
  
“Sorry.” Carl said while looking at the floor. He concentrated on remaining still as the rag made contact with his lip, dabbing at the dried blood on the surface. Carl continued to look down at the floor to avoid his father’s eyes so close to his own. Rick splashed more water on the rag and gently dragged it up and down the side of his face, cleaning away dirt and blood as he went. He then brought the rag down to Carl’s jaw and began lightly scrubbing at a mark near his neck. Carl felt himself tense up at the unexpected touch and his vision began to narrow as his heart beat faster. He fought to remain calm by taking a few deep breaths and trying to ignore the touch at his pulse point, where days prior unfamiliar hands had grabbed him roughly, holding him down.  
  
“Are you alright?”  
  
Carl blinked and looked up at his father hesitantly before nodding and turning away again. Looking into his eyes was nearly unbearable. Rick pursed his lips and seemed lost in thought for a moment before his eyes focused on something on his son’s neck. Carl felt his panic begin anew when Rick reached over and pulled at the collar of his shirt, exposing more of his skin. Carl slapped his hands away angrily and sat back away from reach.  
  
“Let me see your neck.” Rick said, reaching out again but stopped when he was met with a furious look from Carl. _“Carl.”_  
  
“What do you _want?_ ” Carl asked fiercely, hands poised in front to defend himself. “I told you I fell, I have a few marks. Leave it alone.”  
  
“That didn’t look like it came from a fall.” Rick’s tone was agitated, making Carl more defensive.  
  
“You wouldn’t know ‘cause you weren’t there!” Carl hissed back. “You never trust me!”  
  
“I do.” Rick insisted and put a hand on his son’s shoulder to calm him but it just irritated Carl more. “I trust you. I just want you to be safe.”  
  
“No one is safe. Ever. You can’t do anything about it! Was Mom safe? Judith? Glenn, Maggie...” Carl chose his words to avoid any more questioning, wanting to wipe the interrogating look off his father’s face for good. The searing anger boiling inside of him was bubbling to the surface and spilling over unchecked. “You didn’t protect anyone! You sat there and waited, hid behind the walls until the Governor came and destroyed everything we had... They counted on you and they’re all gone now!”  
  
Carl’s voice was too loud but Rick just sat in shock and made no movement to calm him down. Rick’s face remained hard for a few more seconds before his eyes filled with tears and he turned away with a tight jaw. When his father stood up Carl felt relief at the distance between them, keeping his expression apathetic. It was only when Rick crossed the room and slammed the shattered front door behind him that Carl felt tears welling in his own eyes.  
  
////  
  
Rick was still out front when Daryl and Michonne returned as the sun was setting behind the trees. They had a large jug filled with murky water and a handful of wild apples. Michonne grinned at him and tossed him one, her smile fading when Rick caught it with a tense look. She met Daryl’s eyes briefly and noted his face seemed pale.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Michonne asked, feeling panicked until she looked beyond Rick to the door of the Post Office and saw Carl sitting against the wall looking equally tense. Rick took the jug of water off of Daryl and shrugged before opening the door for them both.  
  
“Nothin’.”  
  
When darkness fell completely, Rick built a small fire around the side of the building to boil the water they had found. He only had a small aluminium can to heat it with, but insisted that he go out and do the tedious work alone. Michonne had offered to accompany him, not wanting him out there alone in the dark but Rick refused. She felt somewhat rejected by his coldness, sitting on the floor of the Post Office beside Carl with a small ache in her chest.  
  
Daryl sat by the window and looked out onto the street, sometimes craning his neck in a pointless effort to check on Rick. He hadn’t said much to her on their run, usually all business when it came to scavenging or hunting and not much for small talk to begin with. They set a couple traps close by on their way back in the hopes of catching something to eat tomorrow. They found an apple tree a few miles out and plucked shiny, crisp apples from the branches while a ring of crushed fruit lay at the roots, pulverized by dozens of undead feet. Michonne’s mood improved when Carl took an apple with a small, crooked grin and bit into it hungrily. His boyish face looked warm and familiar, a smile forming on her lips automatically.  
  
Carl’s grin disappeared when Rick returned with the water, setting the jug down and pulling off his jacket. Michonne looked between them uncomfortably, the tension palpable. Rick nudged Daryl out of his place at the window, telling him to get some sleep and he would take over. Daryl seemed to consider arguing with him but ultimately stood up and found a place on the floor next to Michonne.  
  
Not a single word was spoken between father and son as Rick settled into his position while Carl lay down and rolled over to face the wall. Michonne sighed and lay down herself, using her bag as a pillow to keep her head off the dusty floor. The room was silent except for the soft buzz of insects outside and she felt herself drifting off to sleep despite the heavy atmosphere in the room.  
  
“No...no...”  
  
A small, fearful voice broke through her slumber hours later, her eyes snapping open as she looked around for the source of the sound.  
  
“Get off, please... _stop_...”  
  
Michonne’s eyes found Carl beside her, rolling fitfully in his sleep with his face scrunched up in terror. Sweat glistened on his brow, visible even in the moonlight. A sob escaped the boy’s mouth and Michonne realized there were tears on his cheeks. She looked over to Rick who was watching with concerned eyes from the window. Carl began to choke and gasp for breath, waking Daryl on Michonne’s other side as she scrambled to his side and shook him gently.  
  
“Not again... please not again... get off me! No! _No!_ ” Carls words were barely comprehensible coming from his breathless lips but the volume of his voice was rising, causing them all to panic. Michonne brought a calming hand to the side of his face and tried to wake him without scaring him further. Rick approached his son cautiously, looking back at the window to check for approaching walkers. 

  
  
“Carl, you’re dreaming,” She tried to sound calm but her voice shook. “ _Carl._ ”  
  
With a sudden intake of breath, Carl bolted upright with his eyes wide and streaming, a strangled sob escaping his lips. Michonne put a hand on his back, making him jump at the initial contact but he then leaned into her touch as she moved her palm in comforting circles between his shoulders. Carl looked up at Daryl and his father staring down at him and wiped the tears off his face instantly with rough hands.  
  
“Are you okay?” Michonne asked him with a quiet voice, half whisper. Carl nodded his head, sniffling and avoided the gaze of his father crouched before him. Michonne met Rick’s eyes for a moment before he stood up to return to the window, Daryl beating him to it.  
  
“I got it, man,” he said gruffly, looking at Carl’s shivering form sadly. Rick muttered a quick thank you and turned back to his son, clearing a spot on the floor beside him with his shoe and sitting down. Carl didn’t look at him again, just allowed Michonne to rub his back as he began to calm down. Though she loved the boy and was glad to be able to comfort him, it pained her to see Carl drinking up the affection she offered when he had once been so fiercely independent. She wondered what exactly it was that haunted him. Was it the loss of his baby sister and his inability to protect her? Was it losing the closest thing to a home he had known since his old life has disappeared? Surely all of the death and loss that was as natural as breathing in this world would have a profound effect on someone so young.  
  
Michonne gently brushed Carl’s hair off of his sweaty forehead, looking over to Rick on the boy’s other side. His face looked weathered and lined in the moonlight as he looked down at his son as the boy tried to catch his breath.  
  
“D’you wanna talk about it?” Rick asked, bowing his head closer to Carl. The boy shook his head furiously without looking up and Michonne met Rick’s eyes once more with a worried glance.  
  
“Here, lie down.” Michonne patted the ground next to her and Carl lay down without an argument, curling up on his side with his back to his father. She reached over and brushed her fingers through his hair again and Carl slowly closed his eyes. Michonne, Rick and Daryl sat for some time and watched his breathing begin to even out as he fell back to sleep. Michonne watched his young features soften and the crease in his brow disappear, pulling her hand back only when she was sure he was peaceful.  
  
“He’s angry.” Rick said quietly, swallowing thickly while he stared down at Carl with a desperate, exasperated expression. “He’s barely even speakin’ to me...”  
  
“He’s scared,” Michonne countered, offering him a sympathetic gaze over his son’s sleeping form.  
  
“I’ve never seen him like this.” Rick gripped his hair in his hands for a moment in frustration. “What do I do?”  
  
Carl stirred slightly in his sleep but fell still again almost instantly. Michonne and Daryl remained silent, neither one having a good answer for Rick. It was still the dead of night and sleep beckoned them but the silence in the room felt uncomfortably heavy. Michonne eventually allowed herself to lie down again and be lulled to sleep by Carl’s steady breathing beside her.  
  
////  
  
Carl woke the next morning feeling fatigued and anxious, as though he had not slept at all. The vivid nightmare that disrupted his sleep had been like pouring salt into a fresh wound, bringing the fear and shame back with a new intensity. Reliving a real nightmare was far worse than anything his mind could have imagined. It had all felt so real. The weight pressed upon him choking his breath. The spine-tingling feeling of unwanted touch on his naked skin. His own begging filling the silence over and over. The unrelenting pain. Waking up to find it was a dream was no relief at all, it had already happened.  
  
His father observed him closely this morning with creased, pensive eyes that rarely left his face. Carl tried his best to ignore him to avoid inciting further interrogations. Michonne stared too, but her eyes were soft and made him feel a little calmer when she would catch his eye and smile at him genuinely. Daryl seemed determined to remain invisible. He watched Rick carefully but avoided saying anything unless absolutely necessary. He had finished his shift watching the surrounding neighbourhood from the window when the sun rose, settling down to catch a brief sleep while it was still early.  
  
“I should go check the traps we set yesterday. Something’s bound to have passed through overnight,” Michonne said to Daryl as he nodded and folded his hands behind his head. His eyes slipped closed and Michonne turned to Rick and Carl.  
  
“You shouldn’t go alone,” Rick said from his seat by the window. “You can wait ‘til Daryl gets up and I’ll go with you.”  
  
“Or Carl can come with me.” Michonne’s suggestion shocked Carl a bit, knowing his Dad was being tested.  
  
“He’s not strong enough yet. He should still be restin’ and takin’ it easy for now.” Rick tried to sound firm but Carl let out an irritated sigh and sat back against the wall with a roll of his eyes.  
  
“He seems a little stir crazy to me,” Michonne said with a knowing look to Carl. “The traps are only a hundred yards away. It won’t take long and it’ll give Carl a chance to stretch his legs a bit.”  
  
Carl saw his father’s resolve begin to soften visibly, and he sat back in defeat.  
  
“Fine. No detours, just straight there and back. You do exactly what she tells you to do, alright?” Rick sounded anxious and not at all sure of himself but Carl nodded enthusiastically and pulled himself up off the floor, disguising the pain of it by biting his lip. He was healing, but pain still flared intensely along his ribs and backside with movement. It was a constant, humiliating reminder of everything he was trying to forget. When he straightened up and got his body under control he felt Michonne put a hand on his shoulder and begin to guide him towards the door.  
  
“Quick, before he changes his mind,” Michonne whispered jokingly to him with a warm smile that Carl returned for a fleeting second, getting lost in her kind face. When they reached the door she stepped in front of him with her hand on the doorknob and gave Rick a reassuring nod before pulling it open and following Carl outside.  
  
Carl felt the sun hit his skin as he stepped out the door and he instinctively reached into his pocket for the knife Daryl had given him. Unsheathing it, he let it hang ready at his side while Michonne took the lead with her katana held out before her. The street was quiet except for the loud hum of the crickets and cicadas in the tall grass. When she was sure there was no danger Michonne fell into step beside Carl and he could feel her stare once again.  
  
Despite his initial excitement at the chance to go on a short run, Carl felt increasingly uncomfortable being outside. Every small sound caused a bolt of fear to shoot through his body and he involuntarily jolted at the sound of a crow cawing from atop the power lines. Michonne lay a gentle hand on his shoulder and Carl looked up at her, trying to calm his racing heart.  
  
“Are you alright?” She asked with her face knotted in concern.  
  
“I’m fine,” Carl said, voice cracking slightly. His eyes fell back to the road again but hers stayed put.  
  
“You don’t seem fine,” Michonne said loud enough that Carl could not ignore it. Her footsteps fell silent beside him and he was forced to stop with a sigh of annoyance. Looking back at her, he shrugged slightly but he felt guilty lying to her.  
  
“I’m just tired, okay?” Carl’s eyes burned but he blinked away tears before they started. Michonne accepted this with a patient nod and they started walking once more.  
  
Up ahead Carl could see a crumpled, partially devoured walker on the side of the road. The smell of its rotten flesh in the hot sun hit his nose and he made a noise of disgust as Michonne approached it.  
  
“I saw this yesterday but we already had too much to carry,” she panted as she kicked aside a matted pile of hair before reaching down and pulling up a black backpack mostly untouched by the gore. Carl stepped closer as she opened the zipper and tipped the contents onto the road.  
  
“No way!” Carl couldn’t help his excitement when his eyes scanned over their loot. A wrapped chocolate bar, a few canned goods and some clothing items lay scattered on the road before them along with a few small knives and a flint that Michonne shook out of the smaller pockets in the front. She reached down and began putting the items inside her own bag until she got to the chocolate bar which she held out for Carl.  
  
“Here, you could use this.”  
  
Carl took the chocolate and opened it immediately, breaking it in half and passing part back to her. She hesitated for a moment, eyeing his skinny arm.  
  
“We always share,” Carl said with a grin, remembering all the times she rode to the prison on horseback after a run excited to show Carl all of the candy and comic books she had found. The memory filled both of them up and she smiled back cheekily.  
  
“Fork it over,” she said, putting her whole share in her mouth at once making Carl laugh and do the same. Michonne, still chewing, reached down and pulled a t-shirt and plaid shirt from the pile of clothing and held them up.  
  
“These look about your size, why don’t you ditch that nasty thing?” She gestured to the stained, ripped walker shirt he was wearing. She leaned in and smelled them before tossing them to him with a shrug. “They smell clean.”  
  
Carl agreed that they were by far cleaner than the one he was wearing and he was eager to change but he didn’t want Michonne to see his body in its current state. He knew there was still evidence of what had happened to him, though he had avoided looking at his body entirely since Daryl found him clothes. It didn’t feel like it belonged to him anymore.  
  
“Go on, we have to be quick or your Dad will let us have it.” Michonne said and Carl stared back at her and shifted uncomfortably, trying to find the words to explain himself. She blinked at him a few times before it seemed to click and she nodded knowingly.  
  
“I get it, I was your age once too.” She turned around and crossed her arms, waiting. Carl looked around back at the Post Office and decided he was a safe distance away to not be seen if his father were to walk out front. He dropped the new clothes momentarily while he peeled off the old shirt, feeling the air hit the bare skin of his torso and arms. Despite himself, he looked down and bit back a gasp at the sight of his own body. He was littered with fading bruises that were yellow around the edges and deep black in the centre. His arms and wrists were still scabbed and crusted from being bound for hours and trying to break free.  
  
Carl felt panic rising from the pit of his stomach and he reached down for the new shirts, desperate to conceal himself once more. As he bent forward and grasped the fabric of the t-shirt, a sudden growl from behind him made him jump and fall forwards onto the road. A walker stumbled towards him, it’s face almost skeletal as it reached for him with its jaw snapping. His knife was still firmly gripped in his hand but he felt paralyzed with fear. Michonne turned around quickly before it could touch him and slashed its head clean off with her katana.  
  
The walker fell heavily to the side and Carl sat in shock for several moments, aware of Michonne’s surprised gaze. He tried to cover himself with his arms but they were in no better shape and no nicer to look at. Her face fell from surprise to devastation and she surveyed the damage before dropping to her knees before Carl.  
  
“ _What happened?_ ” Her voice was choked and desperate and she tried to reach out to examine an arm but Carl yanked it back and found the new shirt on the ground with shaking hands. He pulled it over his head and then threw the plaid shirt on top before she could stop him. He wanted to stand and run away but Michonne was leaning over him and it was clear he wasn’t going anywhere. He swallowed nervously and wracked his brain for a way to talk himself out of it.  
  
“I fell, I told you...” Carl said, trying to keep his voice calm and confident but it sounded entirely untrue.  
  
“No way in _hell_ did you fall, Carl.” Tears were forming in her eyes and her voice shook with emotion. “Someone did this to you.”  
  
Carl shook his head quickly but couldn’t find words that would make sense. He felt trapped and tried to back up, but Michonne put a hand on his shoulder that kept him in place. His breath was coming in quick gasps and his limbs shook uncontrollably. Her hand left his shoulder and came up to his face, gently brushing his hair back off his face. The softness of her touch made him finally crack, tears falling freely down his face and his body trembling with silent sobs.  
  
“I just want to help you. _Please_ , you’re scaring me.”  
  
He finally looked up into her eyes and saw her devastated face. Guilt swelled inside him at the sight of her tears. He didn’t want to make her cry.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Carl whispered and felt her take his hand in hers.  
  
“You don’t have anything to be sorry for. It’s alright, you’re safe.” Her hand was like an anchor holding him in reality as fear and panic swirled around him. It was soft and gentle, unlike the memories that were screaming in his head.  
  
“I just want it to go away.” Carl wiped the tears from his eyes roughly with his free hand and took a few calming breaths. “I can’t-“  
  
His voice broke and he dissolved into tears once more. Michonne slowly wrapped her arms around him and held him as he cried, resting her head on top of his. Carl was relieved when she didn’t press him further and just let him cry against her for several long moments until he fell silent. When she pulled back she wiped away her own tears and Carl met her gaze with his head low with shame.  
  
“We’ll talk later. Promise me,” she added firmly and Carl nodded reluctantly. She stood and helped him to his feet. “Come on, we’re almost there.”


End file.
